Sing the Little Children
by el bastardo
Summary: AU. Ralph was captured before the island burned, but is kept alive. No rescue. Now it's three years later and the whole island is going to pot. Eventual slash and graphic violence.
1. Chapter One

Sing the Little Children 

            **Disclaimer**:  I do not own an island or any choirboys.  This is not for lack of trying.  William Golding, for some reason, is quite a stickler for keeping them to himself.  But I'm still hoping.  If you have or know of any islands or choirboys for sale, please contact me.

**Author's Note**:  The end is changed.  In the hunt, Ralph was caught fairly quickly.  The fire was never started and there was no rescue.  However, instead of killing Ralph, Jack decided to keep him as a trophy.  Now, three years have passed and the island world is starting to crumble away.  

**Warnings**:  You know as well as I that you can't write a serious LotF fic without violence.  So, plenty of that ^__^  Also, there's gonna be slash…  Lots and lots of slash ^____^  Consider yourself warned… or enticed…

**One**

Twilight was just filtering from the sky when Jack returned.  He gave a brief wave to the boys guarding his cave before slipping through the narrow entrance.  Samneric, now gangling preteens, nodded and saluted with their spears as their leader passed.  Inside, Jack's sharp eyes picked out the scattered debris on the dark floor – bones and scraps of fur, a fruit-shell gourd used to hold water.  He padded to the back, completely silent, and crouched before a small fire that flickered and smoldered without smoke, a trick learned by the boys when they had used a certain type of tree as firewood.  In a pigskin pouch at his side were several chunks of meat; he pulled them out, skewered them on sharpened sticks lying ready, and held them over the bright embers.  A moment later and the warm, mouth-watering scent of cooking meat filled the room.

"You shouldn't feed me any more, Merridew."  Jack glanced up from his sizzling meal, glaring into the shadows until a shock of white emerged.  "You gonna keep me in here and you may as well kill me now."  Ralph shook off the pig-hide covering, kicking out his pale legs and arching his back in a stretch.  His white skin glowed in the fire's dim light, the result of being confined for nearly all of three years.

Jack grunted and gave a half-hearted shrug.  He flipped the meat over, staring resolutely at the fire.  Across from him, Ralph knelt and drank from a bowl of water that lay nearby.  He held it out to Jack when he was finished and the redhead exchanged the bowl for the cooked meat.  Ralph spent no time before gnawing on the burnt pig-flesh.

"You ain't havin' a problem with it," Jack observed dryly after taking a long draught.  The other boy didn't bother to reply.  Jack smirked and pulled out another strip of meat to cook.  Then, in the silent chasm that stretched between them, he dropped his words.  "Roger's a problem," he began, hunched over the fire.  "He's gettin' loud… doesn't respect the hunt anymore.  I'd exile 'im if the other big'uns didn't love 'im."  The island's leader growled and punched the floor.  "That slimy git is headin' for some real trouble."

"I heard him talking to Samneric," Ralph suddenly broke in.  Jack's wide blue eyes flashed up, but Ralph took this moment to meticulously lick and suck the grease from his fingers.  Just as Jack began to grit his teeth with impatience, Ralph finished and spoke again.  "He was coming to see me, I think, but the twins stopped him.  I heard them talking.  Roger wanted to come in."

"See you?  Why?"  Jack tore a hunk of juicy, salty meat off of his stick.  Ralph's moon-white shoulders moved in a shrug.

"I dunno.  He didn't say nothin.'"

"He must be up to something…"  Jack threw his stick into the fire with an angry flick of his wrist.  He glared at Ralph, who looked at him calmly, one brow raised.  "But what in bloody hells would he want with you?"  Ralph shrugged again and lay back.

"What do I know?" he asked the ceiling, folding his arms behind his head.  "I'm just your little pet."

"Don't gimme that."  Jack's searching fingers found a small pebble and he tossed it onto Ralph's stomach.  "We all know you're more than that.  You're the bloody brains on this damned island."

"It's too bad no one ever listened to me."  Ralph brushed the stone off and rolled onto his side, watching Jack from over his shoulder.  Jack snorted.

"Like holdin' a grudge, don'tcha?"

"If it weren't for you and your blood-thirsty ways, Merridew, we'd've been off this island years ago."  Ralph's voice was tired as they followed the worn track of three years of these conversations.  He flopped over onto his stomach and rested his head on his arms.

Jack stared at Ralph's feet, twitching by the fire, before he spoke.  "We haven't been too badly off…  We've a home here."  On one heel was a long gash – it looked deep and painful.

"A home, eh?"  Ralph's voice was muffled.  "A home where three more boys have died?"  Jack glared at the fair head as Ralph continued.  "This isn't a home, it's a death trap."

Jack scrambled, spider-like, around the fire, hissing, "Be silent!  This is _our_ island!"  He shoved at the unresponsive boy, rolling him over onto his back.  "This is _our_ island and no one else's!  Have some respect for that."

"Merridew."  One brow lifted, Ralph stared down the hunter.  "You know as well as I," he said, "that we can't survive like this.  We're losing boys and they won't come back."

"Feh!" Jack sat back on his heels.  "A couple of little'uns… No matter."  Ralph's reply was to stretch his arms, sigh, and relax, closing his eyes as though Jack was no longer present.  The choirboy glared before slinking back to his original spot by the fire.  "We survived," he muttered sullenly, "we're men now."

There was a long silence, Jack irritably flicking twigs and shards of wood into the fire, before Ralph spoke.  "We haven't survived, Merridew, we're surviving.  This isn't a real life."  He sat up, eerily pale as his blue eyes burned with the reflected firelight.  An unwilling shiver trickled up Jack's spine at the ghostly spectre before him.  "We're hanging here, Jack--" he spit out the name "--with no way forward and no way back."  He held up one arm and Jack flinched at the sight of a jagged, red tear that reached from the inner wrist to elbow.  "We can only die."

Jack lunged forward and grabbed Ralph's wrist, dragging the smaller boy closer so he could inspect the wound.  "What did you do?" he demanded, running a finger close to the dry and scabby ridge.  The inflamed flesh was hot under his touch.

"Three years in this cave, Merridew, and I was bound to snap."  Ralph's lidded eyes glittered with wry humor.  "But then, my stick did, too.  They don't make the best razors."  He shifted closer on his knees until only a small space was between the two boys.  "Could you imagine it?" he breathed, eyes now lit by more than just the fire.  A nearly hysterical expression twisted his mouth and widened his eyes.  "What would it be like for you, Jack--" once again the name was spat like a vile curse "--to come home to your little cave and find me dead and rotting with the bones and scraps of hide?  Then would you realize that this is no island?"  His voice, growing louder and higher as the boy became more agitated, broke on the last word.  "This is no island, Merridew, this is hell!"  He made to wrench his arm out of Jack's grasp, but cried out when Jack held on and the wound tore.  Then he seemed to crumple in on himself, going limp and covering his face with his other hand.

Jack watched Ralph's blood creep sluggishly around the fingers he'd pressed into the soft, white skin.  He felt in a daze and shook his head to clear it.  The fair-haired boy shivered before him, tremors of madness shaking the bony ridge of his spine.  He blinked and reached out with his other hand to nudge a pale shoulder.  Ralph was unresponsive, so Jack reached his arm around and pulled the boy to his feet.  When dull, glazed eyes met his own, he shrugged.

"It's bloody well time for you to see the stars," he muttered, "and we may as well clean your arm."  They started towards the entrance, ducking under a rounded, shallow stalactite.  "Let's go outside."


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer:  I had a dream… 

**cue dream sequence**

William Golding: I have decided to give away my island and choirboys to one lucky bastard…

El B: Yes!!  Yes at LAST!!!   WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!   They are mine, mine to do with as I will!!!!

WG: Yes, and that lucky bastard is…  Kaede!!!

El B: WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?

Kaede: Why, thank you, Mr Golding. *takes island and choirboys*

El B: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!   Kaede, you lucky BASTARD!!!!!!!   *shakes fist*

K:  ^____^

**wakes up gasping**

Well, all right, more of a nightmare…   Anyway, the island and choirboys still *sniffles* don't belong to me…

**Author's Note**: WAH!!!!   I can't believe that I actually got reviews!!!   I LOVE you guys!!!   *glomps and snuggles*  And guess what?  After this chapter, the rating is going up.  There's gonna be blood, non-con (well, the discussion, and effects of non-con), and there would be swearing except that I have no idea what kind of foul language was popular in WWII Britain *shrugs*

**Q&A**: That's right!  If you have a question, leave it in a review and I'll love to answer it! 

Today's question is, uh, well, not really a question, but I'll treat it as one, anyway.  *clears throat*  "Why does Ralph call Jack 'Merridew?'"  Crescent Lancer *huggles* left this, um, comment that I made into a question.  And the answer is that Ralph keeps himself distant from Jack.  This is from when he was first captured and was, uh, bitter… yeah, that's it…  He refused to speak, and for a long time he pretended that Jack didn't really exist.  Now it's just habit, and he only uses Jack's first name to make a point or draw attention.

**Shameless Plugs**: Wow, if you're reading this far then you must really love me.  But here's the big question… can you love my friends?  *grins*  If you are a Gundam Wing fan, then check out Punk Rawk Girl, cause she's got a kick ass songfic that makes me weep.  And if you're a Yu Yu Hakusho junkie, then take a gander at Kaede, cause she's got a killer fic.  

And, finally, begin chapter two of Sing the Little Children  *is wiped*

**Two** (should I start naming these things?) 

 It was past midnight when the boys left the cave.  Clouds scudded across the sky, a dark grey against black velvet and animal-eye stars.  The moon had set long before.  Ralph, sensitive to the smallest amounts of light, could pick out the rocky outcroppings and jagged boulders that formed the landscape of Jack's end of the island.  It brought back memories – fear and anger and grief – everything that he had locked away inside of him like he had been locked inside of Jack's cave.

They ghosted down the narrow path that edged the sharp drop at the island's end.  Ralph's heel, cut on a rock a couple nights ago, was starting to burn, and he was forced to lean heavily on the red-haired hunter.  A cool wash of air that tasted of sea salt brushed against his skin and made him shiver.  It was so odd; he hadn't been out for so very long, yet he could remember everything.  Every step they took had been engraved on his mind.  They were following the path that he had scrambled down to get away from a pack of vicious, inhuman hunters only three years before.

When they hit the soft ground that marked the beginning of the island's forest, Ralph pulled ahead, not bothering to hide the eagerness in his step.  It was so nice to feel the warm earth beneath his feet, and the scent of night-blooming flowers urged life to flow once more in his veins.  He took a deep breath and a smile came unwillingly to his face.  After so long he could still feel the thrill and exhilaration of being a wild-boy, running free through these very trees.  But the feeling fled quickly when Jack held him up and spoke.

"This way," the tall, long-limbed hunter said, voice a dusky whisper.  He still had a hand on Ralph's arm, and pulled the smaller boy to the side of the path.  They pushed through a few meters of thick brush, Ralph limping when his heel brushed against a log, before breaking onto another, smaller path.  It looked to be one used by the island's pigs.  Ralph turned to look back the way they had come, and heard the loud chattering of younger boys passing down the other trail.  

"You're hiding me," Ralph commented when they started again.  He had to walk behind Jack now, and was having some trouble keeping up.  The skinny silhouette that strode in front of him was silent.

Several minutes later, the path ended at a sandy alcove made when a stream cut into the island's basalt bedrock.  Ralph recalled that there were many of these hidden niches, and were good places to find pigs.  There was a short stretch of black sand, still hot from the day, surrounded by cliff-like walls draped with ferns.  The water was the best part, however – cool and clean and sweet.  When Jack finally released his arm, Ralph had no qualms about hurrying forward.  He splashed into the stream, falling to his knees with a small laugh.  The cool water lapped at his chest, washing away the grime and sweat of his imprisonment.  His arm, though it stung at first, quickly went numb.

It was only after several minutes of this that Ralph realized he was alone in his enjoyment.  He stilled and sat cross-legged in the middle of the water, lifting his chin to look at the shadow on the bank.  Jack crouched, knife out and flashing in the starlight as he whittled at something Ralph couldn't see.  He was silent.

"All right," Ralph said when he couldn't take it any longer.  He had to raise his voice to be heard over the water.  "You brought me out here for a reason, didn't you?"  Jack raised his head, features indiscernible in the darkness, yet said nothing.  Ralph sighed and tried again.  "Merridew, you may as well tell me, it's not like I'd betray you or anything.  You're my only bloody contact to the outside world.  Tell me why you're sneaking around all of a sudden."

Jack stood, knife disappearing into the folds of shadow he'd wrapped about himself, and stepped away.  Even though he kept his eyes trained on the hunter, Ralph soon lost sight of him.  But before the first inklings of worry could disturb him, there was a squawk and a scuffling in the bushes to one side of the path.  Ralph blinked in surprise when one of the younger boys, he couldn't remember a name, came stumbling out.  The boy tripped and fell to his hands and knees, only to be forced even further forward when Jack emerged and shoved a foot into his back.

"I—I wuz on'y lookin' fer somefin' to eat," the boy protested, his accent thick enough to make Ralph wince.  Although he couldn't see the little'un's face, he could imagine the dirt and blood that was likely smeared across it.  This was one of the boys that had taken well to a life as an animal.

"Why are you on this side of the island?" Jack demanded, pulling the boy to his feet.  "Why aren't you with Roger?"  When no answer was forthcoming, he shook the boy so his head wobbled.  "He sent you here, didn't he?  Didn't he?!"  The hunter snarled something and shoved the child away from himself.  "Should've bloody known better," he muttered, stalking away with his arms folded stiffly across his chest.  "That git can't keep his eyes off'a me…"  With Jack's back turned, the boy scrambled to his feet and tore off down the path.  Jack didn't seem to notice as he continued to mumble to himself.

Ralph watched Jack's silhouette until his patience wore out and his curiosity got the better of him.  "Does Roger always send someone to watch you?"

"Roger's a bloody sneak," the redhead growled.  "All he wants is to have this island to himself.  I know he's just lookin' fer a weakness."  He slapped a fist into his palm.  "If it wasn't fer his bloody cronies—"

"It's like what happened before."  Ralph, growing tired of the water, stood and waded onto the bank.  A sigh of pleasure escaped him as the warm air swept around him, but his gaze was stern when he looked at Jack.  "It's a cycle, Merridew.  We can't stop it, and no one seems to want to escape it."

"Oh, shove it," Jack blurted, tossing his head.  "I'm so bloody tired of your whining."

"Then why don't you kill me?"  Ralph turned away and spread his arms, embracing the gentle breeze.  He looked over his shoulder.  "That was the plan, after all."

"Feh!"  Even in the dark, Ralph could feel Jack's glower burning the space between his shoulder blades.  It took a great effort of will to keep his back turned.

"Well?" Ralph said archly.  "We don't have all night for this.  If you're gonna kill me, get it over with.  Surely you have a spear ready for me… sharpened at both ends."  He bit his lip as he waited, wondering if this would be his last night.  Even after all these years, he still didn't know what to expect from Jack, whose eyes were so often clouded by bloodlust and chaos.  Perhaps pushing Jack wasn't the best strategy, but they had walked this limbo long enough – it was time to draw some lines.

"I can't kill you," came Jack's low voices, pitched to be barely heard above the stream's gurgle.  "You bloody well know that."  He sounded sullen, like the child he was supposed to be.  Ralph smiled into the night and let his arms drop, flexing his hand.  Of course Jack wouldn't kill him - he was too precious a possession.  

At that thought, Ralph was nearly blinded with a flash of insight.  _Of course…  Roger wanted to speak with him so badly that he had threatened Samneric, Jack was allowing him some measure of freedom, though hidden from anyone else, and now this – Jack's itching under some restriction, as though he would very much like to get rid of Ralph, but couldn't.  Ralph's smile widened as he came to his final conclusion._

"Roger's challenged you," he stated, turning in time to see Jack jump a little in surprise.  He folded his arms and stepped forward, crowding close enough to see the stars reflected in Jack's wild eyes.  "He wants the island and the only thing holding him back is me."  He kilted his head to one side.  "Am I right?"

Jack looked away, one large hand coming up to rub his chin.  "Mebbe."

Ralph's grin faltered.  "But why would I have any effect on what he does?" he wondered aloud.

"'Cause you're still our first chief," Jack said, so quietly that Ralph had to strain to hear.  "The little'uns don't remember, but the big'uns do.  As long as I have you, they won't try anything.  And if they aren't with 'im, Roger won't, either."  Jack flicked his eyes to Ralph's face, then crouched, pulling out his knife and stabbing it into the sand.  "Now you know."

Ralph stared down at the hunter, but his thoughts were focused inward.  The conch – that's what he was.  A symbol of leadership, of status, of control.  Ralph lifted his hand, staring at white, frail skin, glowing softly in the starlight.  He remembered how the conch had looked when it had been out of the water – thin, fragile, nearly transparent.  That's how he felt, knowing what he did now.  Without him, Jack was nothing, but without Jack, Ralph was even less.  An object, a symbol… that was all.

"I hate this island," he sighed, sinking to the ground.  "We died on that plane, Merridew, and went to hell."  Jack grunted, whether in agreement or not, Ralph couldn't tell.  He took a deep breath, savoring the scented night air, and bolstered himself for the long days and months of imprisonment that he was bound to face.  "We should go back," he said, picking up a handful of sand and letting it spill through his fingers.  "You don't want me out and about in the morning, do you?"

Jack's shadowy shape seemed to stretch and morph until it was upright.  Ralph watched in bemusement, oddly amused by how inhuman Jack could be.  The hunter strode away, back to the path, and waited until Ralph caught up before continuing.  The journey back was uneventful and without interruption, until they reached the rocky area surrounding Jack's cave.  One of the twins was waiting for them.

"Jack?  Jack!!"  The twin skittered on the rocks, dangerously close to the edge where the ocean pounded on the cliff far below.  Before Ralph's eyes flashed the image of someone else falling, but he shook his head to dispel it.  "Jack!"  The boy was frantic when he reached them, heaving and panting more heavily than such a short run would warrant.

"What is it?" Jack demanded roughly.  But the younger boy could only gasp, whimpering Jack's name over and over.  The redhead looked about to slug him until Ralph stepped in.

"Hush," he murmured, taking the twin by the shoulders.  "We're here, Sam."  The boy's gaze became sharper and more focused when Ralph said his name.

"Ralph?" he whispered, the child in him showing itself as he shook and trembled.

"It's all right, Sam, we're here."  Ralph peered into dark, frightened eyes.  "Tell us what happened."

"I—It was Roger.  He did something to Petey.  He's bleedin' real bad, an' he—he was screamin' somethin.'"  As though coming out of some kind of trance, Sam backed away, blinking rapidly.  He turned to Jack and grabbed his hand.  "Come on!  He's hurtin' real bad!"  Then, chief in hand, he ran back to the cave, leaving Ralph to trail behind.  

His feet carried him past the spot where Roger's face peered from the shadows of his memory.  The night was no longer as beautiful.


	3. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer**…  

El B: Come on, G, you know you wanna give 'em to me!

William Golding: Never!  These choirboys are mine!  All mine!!! 

El B: All of them?  Even *cries* Jack?

WG:  Mwahahahah… especially Jack…  *leers*

El B:  o_O  nani?  *thinks: oh, my poor, poor Jack…  I will save you!!!*  You hear that, G?  I will--- I--- hello?  Where did he go?

WG: *flying to island*

El B: NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!! 

**Author's Note**: And here you have it.  Chapter Numero Three.  I'm so proud.  But I must apologize for how long it took, and for how short it is.  That and how roundabout it's turning out.  I need to learn how to make a plot as opposed to having the characters brood all the time.  I'll try harder for the next one.  Thank you, once again, for the wonderful encouragement.  I love you guys ^_^

**Warnings**:  Lots of blood (sweet deal), talk of non-con, and, um, lack of a plot.  

                                                          **Sing the Little Children**

                                                               **Three**

Jack stopped, eyes widening.  He flung his hand out to the side and gripped the stone beside him as darkness and the drum of his own heartbeat filled his head.  There was blood, so much blood, filling his senses and drowning him where he stood.  The boy huddled against one wall, streaked with crimson.  The redness of it burned Jack's eyes, and the hunter within him shifted, hungered, and called out for the wild exhilaration of the hunt.  

He turned and walked away before it could overcome him.

"Jack?"  Sam's call was deafened by the thunder of blood in his ears.  He shrugged it aside and kept going.  Then stopped when calm blue eyes met his.

Ralph stepped aside to let him pass, but his steady gaze never left Jack's face.  The hunter glowered, a smoldering vortex of lust and hunger, before tearing himself away and setting off at a lope towards the island jungle.  He needed the quiet, he needed the shadows, he needed to forget what he was until the blood that dripped across his vision washed away with the night.

With the redhead gone, a trickle of familiarity slipped down Ralph's spine.  Sam was looking at him, pleading with his eyes and face for Ralph to step forward and take responsibility.  For now, the mantle of leadership was his to wear.  Ralph rubbed his arm, marveling at the texture of his skin, then strode forward, answering Sam's tremulous relief with a brief nod.

"Ralph!"  The other twin, Eric, was kneeling beside a little'un - a child with back and legs striped with blood.  He held a rag and a wooden bowl filled with water, both dyed red.

"Tell me what happened," Ralph commanded, sinking to the floor across from Eric.  The boy between them was naked and shivering, lying on his side with his knees pulled up and his face buried.  Ralph reached out, but stopped his hand a couple inches above a sweaty, dirty flank.  The waves of pain and fear made him wince and he pulled away.

"Just after you an' Jack left--"

"He came crawlin' around that big rock--"

"The one that looks like Mr Winston--"

"Cryin' an' stuff.  Like a little animal."

"We asked him what happened, an' he just kept cryin.'"

Sam hovered over Ralph's shoulder, starting forward, then stopping and rocking back.  "We tried to get him to talk.  All he said was Roger's name."  Ralph looked back and forth between the twins, then focused on the boy.

"Peter?"  His back was covered with dark welts and dried blood.  Part of it had been washed away by Eric, but even then there was very little skin showing through the messy combination of dirt and bodily fluids.  Ralph stared at the trembling child and shrugged.  "I guess all we can do is clean him up.  Find some more rags and water."  This he directed at Sam, who nodded vigorously and hurried deeper into the cave.

"What about me, Ralph?"  Eric, eyes wide like his brother, gestured with his dyed rag.

"Do what you've been doing," Ralph said slowly.  "It's the best thing for now."  Eric nodded and began again, gently touching his wet rag to a spot on an arm or leg, then moving it in small circles.  Ralph sat back on his heels with a sigh and shook away the hair that fell into his face.

Peter, Peter…  The little'un, so badly ravaged, was one of the boys that had had no affiliation with either chief, opting to spend his days running wild and playing innocently in the jungle by the beach.  Ralph only remembered him because the child had gotten bitten by a snake and was kept in Jack's cave to be cared for.  As though Ralph was some kind of miracle-maker.  As though he was anything but a boy.

"Peter," he said softly, finally touching the little'un, "we never deserved this."  His fingers tangled in the child's soft curls.  "None of us did."

"Ralph?"  Sam stood over him, hopping from foot to foot.  In one hand were the tattered remains of a school uniform; in the other was a thick fruit shell with a hole punctured in its top.  Ralph nodded and took both.

He turned to the small fire and, using a stick, dragged out a couple of embers.  Gingerly, he picked them up and dropped them into the water.  When faint steam began to rise, he dipped his rag – it looked like part of a pair of shorts – and touched it to the back of Peter's neck.

"He'll be fine, right?  Ralph?"  Sam continued to shift at the edge of Ralph's vision.  Ralph paused as he worked at a patch of dried blood, considering what he could tell the anxious twin.

"Sam…  I think that Petey just needs to be warm."  As he spoke his cloth began to move again.  "There's this thing called 'shock,' see?  It happens when you get hurt, then you get cold real quick."  He looked up and nodded towards the fire.  "If you build that up, then get my skins, we'll keep him warm.  Then worry about everything else."

"Right!"  The younger boy disappeared from Ralph's sight, only to return a moment later with an armful of sticks.  Soon the fire was washing them all with waves of scented heat.

Under the boys' ministrations, the extent of Peter's injuries became clear.  The child's back, legs, and arms were bruised and lacerated – it appeared that he'd been beaten with a stick.  However, there were other marks – finger indents and bite marks – on Peter's waist and neck.  Ralph stared down at them, wondering at their presence, as he washed the skin around inflamed and discoloured flesh.

"What happened to you, Petey?" he wondered aloud.  Samneric looked up at him, startled, but he ignored them.  He set his bowl and cloth aside and reached out to stroke Peter's forehead.  The little'un had relaxed a little ways into their impromptu bath and allowed himself to be rolled over onto a couple of skins.  Now his eyes were closed under a mass of ragged curls, bleached by the sun.  As he slept he murmured, quieting only at Ralph's touch.  The former chief pulled yet more skins over Peter's little body, then leaned back against the wall, trying to get comfortable.  He left his hand to rest on Peter's cheek.

"Can we do anything else, Ralph?"  Samneric knelt, side by side, close to Ralph's long legs.  Their faces, so similar in their eagerness to please, made Ralph smile.  These were the loyal ones.  He would have fallen long before if not for their identical faces, looking to him for direction even as he lost control…

"Ralph?"  It was Sam who kilted his head to the side.  They were waiting for an answer.  He shook his head, ignoring the burn at the back of his eyes.

"Get some rest."  He turned his head to look outside.  The sky had turned to a dark grey and the fire was dying.  Samneric started to protest, but he shook his head.  "No.  You've been up all night, and all yesterday, too.  Sleep here, if you want," he offered.  The twins exchanged a glance, then nodded.

"All right, Ralph."

"If it's okay with you, Ralph."

"Sure," he said, nodding once.  

The two looked at each other again, then turned with identical grins.  "Wacco!"  Their voices, cracking in synch on the last syllable, chimed off the cave walls.  Ralph was startled into a chuckle.  Samneric, still grinning, shuffled off to find something to use as bedding.  When they returned they sprawled in a heap at Ralph's feet, a pile of arms and legs and puppy-ish enthusiasm.  They squirmed for a moment, then stilled.  Soon, they were asleep and snoring.

Ralph's lids fell as he leaned his head back, dimly watching the grey dawn spill up the cave walls.

            ~                                              ~                                              ~

Jack returned sometime later, when the light from outside had become a watery gold that highlighted everything scattered about the floor, including the boys.  Samneric clung together, like dogs at their master's feet.  Jack felt a brief surge of jealous anger at this - that some of his tribe would be loyal to another, but it faded quickly.  This was something he could understand - an animal loyalty that could hold one in a state of mindless willingness.  Ralph could fall off the end of the world and Samneric would be right behind him.

"Jack?"  A voice, so small that he could barely hear it, spoke his name.  His sharp eyes raked the room until they rested on the speaker.  Peter, clustered at Ralph's side, buried under a heap of skins, stared up at the redhead, eyes huge and dark.  The little'un's swollen lip trembled and a tear trickled down the side of his nose.

"What did he do to you, Petey?" Jack asked, stalking around Samneric and kneeling in front of the child.  Peter shrank back and tightened his grip on Ralph's hand.  Jack sighed and shook his head.  "Don't be scared of me.  I'm your chief.  I'm gonna take care of you."  He grinned, lifting his brows and widening his wild eyes.  "You're one of mine, and I'll spear anyone who hurts ya."

Peter seemed to relax a little, smiling a little at Jack's bravado.  He loosened his grip on Ralph.  But then he winced and another tear followed the last.  "It hurts inside," he whispered.  "He made it hurt inside."

"I'll make him pay, Petey."  Jack tried to keep the burning rage in his stomach from coming through in his voice and frightening the child further.  "You get better, and I'll make Roger pay.  'Cause I'm your chief."  The boy nodded.  "Go back to sleep, Petey."  He reached out to gently tousle the head of curls, and Peter's eyes fell closed.  Jack stood and, before the molten emotions within him could overflow, hurried outside.

Silently, he scaled the rocky wall next to the cave's entrance.  The night before he'd needed darkness and the wild jungle to let loose the beast inside him, but now he needed to cool down.  He needed to think.  So he climbed to the top of Castle Rock, where he used to post guards, and folded himself to the ground.  The ocean spray of morning misted his hair and skin, and, even after all this time, it still soothed him.

"You know what Roger did, don't you," Ralph said, coming up beside him.  Jack brought his knees to his chin and wrapped his long arms around his legs.  He nodded vaguely and rubbed his fingers against a scar on his shin.  Ralph sank cross-legged next to him.

"It's something you hear about when you're in choir."  Jack kept his gaze unfocused, watching the ocean ripple and swell under the newly risen sun.  "Never with my boys, but there are stories."  He took a deep breath.  "Always the older boys, or the directors…  It was the pretty ones that had to be careful.  Don't go out at night alone.  Lock your door.  Never let your guard down."  Jack repeated a voice from another life as he spoke.  "Choose your friends carefully.  Surround yourself with goons.  Be ruthless.  Don't trust anyone…"  He looked up at Ralph, whose expression reflected confusion.

"What happened to him, Merridew?"  There was sadness in those eyes… pity.  Jack shrugged one sharp shoulder and scooped up a handful of pebbles.  In a smooth motion he whipped them far into the ocean, where they disappeared.

"What happened to him?" he mimicked.  "He was used, in the worst way possible."  Jack stood and turned to stare down at his old rival.  "He was raped, Ralph.  Roger raped him."

"What?"  Disbelief coloured the boy's voice.  His gaze lingered on Jack, then skittered away as his cheeks reddened.  "How—how could someone--"

"There's more to this world than your father and his bloody navy," Jack said gruffly.  He spun away and strode to the quasi-path that led down, then paused.  "There's pain, and blood, and things that would feast on your fear.  Roger is one of those things."  He took a deep breath, letting the clean air cool his skin, then left.


	4. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer:  **

El B: *crying*  Why???  Why can I never win???  *is hanging upside down over pool of boiling sharks*

WG: This is what you get for trying to steal my choir boys, filthy fanfic-writing scum!  *starts to lower incapacitated El B*

El B: Is this the end of El B???  

**sudden fanfare**  
  


Kaede: Dun dun-dun dah!!!  *singing own theme music*  She swings through the night, protecting the perverted and rescuing the wicked!!  *poses*  I am Kaede!  And I will punish you in the name of the Muu!!  *more posing, sparkly lights*  
  


El B: *nearly in the water* uh… Kaede?  A little help?

K: Oh! Yeah!  *rescues El B and both escape from WG*  
  


El B:  So… yeah.  I still own no choir boys…  *sniffles*

**Author's Note:  Eeeeek!!!   *jumps up and down*  I can't believe it!!  I actually finished this gods forsaken chapter!!   I started it in June!  Well, then again, I had a few, um, distractions…  Heheheheh….  *clears throat*  Ahem.  Anyway, this has to be the shortest chapter I've written thus far…  sorry…  But it ends on a cliffhanger, so I guess you can expect something uber-shibby for chapter five, since I'm trying to get into the habit of producing these things.**

**Warnings:  Once again…  Lack of a plot!!   And sap!!!  Woo hoo!!  
  
**

**Q&A: Umm..  I didn't get any questions…  Oh!  Charlie5587, I really like Roger, too!  I think of him as the perfect evil guy…  mwahahaha…  And everyone else, you guys make it worth while!  I love you!!!**

**                                                        Sing the Little Children**

                                                                        **Four**

The day was warming when Jack left the rocky ground to search the island.  His eyes automatically searched the ground for signs of animals, both pig and human, but his long-legged stalk never faltered.  His face was expressionless, a mask of icy calm.  If he was going to confront Roger about the boy's crimes, he was going to need some support.  He was going to need his hunters.

~                                                          ~                                                          ~

Jack followed the jungle's edge, kicking up sand and pausing at one point to pluck some mangoes from a heavily laden tree.  The sun had risen high in a nearly cloudless sky – sweat seeped down Jack's ribs and back, and his hair clung to his neck and shoulders.  His gaze caught on the swelling, rhythmic wave of water to his left, but he was pulled away by the sounds of voices before he could consider going for a swim.

Laughter and yells that crackled with adolescent energy drew him deeper into the trees.  He bit into his fruit, the juices trickling down his chin, neck, and chest, as he nimbly slipped through creepers and over fallen foliage.  Speckled light, green and cool from the wide fronds swaying above his head, illuminated a tender scene when he broke into a small clearing.

One of Jack's hunters, a long-ago tenor, had a crowd of little'uns gathered around.  He was pointing at the ground and explaining something as the children jostled each other to look, giggling and making wild gestures.  Jack stood and watched, leaning against the sloping trunk of a palm as he finished the last of his fruit.  The young hunter, face obscured by dried paint, yet recognizable for the hair he'd allowed to grow out, bent down to pick something up off the ground.  When he held his hand out the little'uns shrieked and scattered.

Jack shook his head and pushed away from his tree.  Wiping his hands on his thighs, he strode forward.  The little'uns, milling at a careful distance from the hunter, parted before him with a "Hail, Chief" and "Hallo, Jack."  He nodded at them and came to a stop in front of his hunter.  The boy, long rope of hair dangling over his shoulder, looked up and grinned.

"Look," he said, holding up his hand for Jack to see, "I think I'll name her Dru!"

"Good Lord, Bastion!"  Jack leapt back, cold fingers of horror tracing his spine.  A massive tarantula, as wide as Jack's palm, waved a leg at him from the back of the hunter's hand.  It was black with brown stripes and a mass of glittering eyes.  Its waving forelegs ended in deadly looking claws.  Jack shuddered.  Bastion pulled his arm back.

"I don't think he likes ya, Dru," he murmured, petting it.  Jack felt nauseous.  The spider crouched down low.  Bastion looked up with a big smile.  "Are we goin' on a hunt, Jack?"

"In a way…"  Jack glanced around the clearing, but saw no other hunters.  "Where are the others?" he asked.  Bastion shrugged.  

"Bill an' Robert went fishin'…  I think.  I don't know about anyone else."  As he spoke, Bastion stroked the spider.  Its bulbous body moved up and down under the touch of his fingers.  Jack had to pry his gaze from the disgusting sight.  

"They should be good…  Come with me."  Bastion nodded and Jack turned. 

The two made their way to the east, down small, winding paths, to the little cove where fish came to rest from ocean currents.  It was the best spot to fish.  On the island where hunting was a privilege given to few, fishing was the alternative.  Many boys enjoyed coming here and practicing their spear skills.  Coming out of the jungle, Jack could see his two hunters on a rock that jutted from the warm waters in the centre of the cove.  A couple little'uns were scattered on the beach and the rocky walls that formed the sides of the cove, but few were willing to swim out to where the older boys were.

"I wonder if they caught anything," Bastion mused, absently stroking his new pet.  "I could do with some squid…"  The boy licked his lips as Jack looked on with disbelief.  His hunter seemed unnaturally attracted to the unusual.  

They wandered down to the water, splashing in for a couple feet, before stopping and calling "Hallo!" until the two other hunters eventually took notice and dived into the water.  Bill and Robert had been close since the very beginning, to the point where they were as alike as the twins were, but that Bill had begun to grow into the man he would once be, and Robert remained a smaller boy.  Bill's golden hair and darkly bronzed skin reminded Jack of Ralph during the first months of their island exile.  He shook his head to banish the thought.

"Is it time for another hunt, Jack?" Robert asked once they'd reached the shallows at the same time as Bill gave a shocked yell and leapt behind his friend.  

"What is that?" he demanded, pointing a shaking finger at Bastion.  The braided hunter shrugged and gave his fellow a 'Who, me?' look.

"Don't worry about that," Jack snapped.  "I need you two to come with me.  We're gonna have a little chat with Roger."

"What?  Why?"  Robert scratched his shaggy head, ignoring the shaking boy-man hunter clinging to the back of his legs.

An image of Peter's crumpled body flashed through Jack's mind.  "That doesn't matter.  He's insolent."  His pale blue eyes pierced through each of the hunters until they lowered their gazes.  Without saying another word, he led them away.

~                                                          ~                                                          ~

Ralph stroked the head of the boy lying at his side.  Peter's skin was hot and covered with a sheen of sickness-sweat.  His wounds had taken a great toll on him, and he had come down with a fever.  Ralph's mind traveled back to a dim past where there was a kind woman who had given him medicines and love to battle his own illnesses.  All he could do for Petey was try to cool him down and give him what little support he had to offer.

Samneric muttered and shifted as they slept.  Sam had gotten the upper hand at some point and was using his brother as a pillow.  It was almost as though they had been having a really slow wrestling match all morning.  Ralph smiled faintly as he watched, then frowned when Petey moaned.  He dipped his hand in a bowl of cool water and dribbled it over the little'un's forehead and neck.

"It'll be all right, Petey.  You'll get better."  More in reassurance for himself than for the unconscious boy, he continued to talk softly as the shadows outside the cave moved and the sun reached its zenith.


	5. Chapter Five

**Disclaimer:**

**El B: *whispers* It's been so long since I've tried to snag the boys, that maybe I can catch the G with his pants down…   *sweatdrop* Er, not like that…  Anyway…   *sneaks up behind Willy G.* **

**WG: BOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**El B:  EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!   *runs away screaming like a scared little schoolgirl*   Awwww…  They still aren't mine….**

**Author's Note:  I'm so sorry it took me so long!!!   I was…  um…  distracted…  *see Punk Rawk Girl in background*  Yeah, so, um, yeah…   I hope this makes up for it…   I just realized that I actually have a plot…  it snuck up on me when I wasn't looking…  *shakes head*  Scary…    Um, Thank you for being such lovely, lovely readers, and I hope to please you in the future…**

**Warnings:  Uhhhhh….   Graphic gross stuff??   I dunno…  I haven't gotten to any of the good stuff yet, so no worries…  **

**Q & A:  *cries*  Nobody asks me questions!!!!**

**And now the actual story…**

                                                            **Sing the Little Children**

                                                                        **Five**

            Ralph was dozing, leaning back against the cave wall, consciousness rising and falling like the breast of a sleeping beast.  Peter had fallen into a true sleep and his fever had finally gone down.  Sam sat near the entrance, waiting for Eric to return with food and fresh water.  Around them were the unfaltering, subsonic vibrations of the tide against the cliff's base.  It was warm.

            He heard a noise.  It was a footstep.  Ralph stood to go look, and found himself on the edge of the cliff, right outside the cave entrance.  

            "Ralphy!"  It was his mother's voice, calling him.  But it was hollow, like the voice of the tide.  "Ralphy!  Where are you, love?"

            Sadness drove through him like a fire-blackened spear.  A terrible yearning for the comfort, safety, and familiarity of his mother's arms struck him down to his knees.  Tears ran freely down his face.

            Footsteps again.  He looked around, but could not find the source.  To either side the narrow path disappeared around the cliff's side, blocking his view.  He grew afraid suddenly.  Everything seemed to darken and the waves raged below him, licking up at his feet.

            "Ralphy…"  This time it was Petey's voice, and the little'un appeared around one corner, skipping lightly on the treacherous path.  He had hideous wounds all over his body – gashes and bruises and broken bones protruding from ghastly pale skin.  Blood flowed from between his legs.  "Where've you been, Ralphy?  I've been lookin' all over for you."  He reached for Ralph with his bloody hands.  "I want you, Ralphy."  And his face changed.

            It was Roger, with fingers like claws.  He was a monster.  Ralph screamed and tried to run away, but he was surrounded by rock and water.  There was no escape for him.

            Then Jack appeared, seemingly from nowhere, his spear in hand.  But he was wild and feral, like a beast.  His blue eyes were filled with storm clouds and all that rose from his throat were growls and strangled howls.  He bared his teeth at Roger and the two began to fight.  Ralph shrank back against the stone.

            A giant wave rose and washed both boys into the sea.  The day became calm and warm again.  But then Ralph heard a moan from the edge of the cliff.  Unable to resist, he crawled forward and looked.

            Piggy lay sprawled on the red rock, his brain matter fanned out around him.  There were ragged holes where the fish had eaten him, and maggots made his bloated body twitch.  But he was alive, looking back at Ralph with empty eye sockets.

            "Ralphy…" he moaned.  A stream of squirming, slimy maggots tumbled over his chin when he opened his mouth.

            Ralph jerked back—

            --and hit the back of his head against the cave wall.

            "Ow," he muttered, rubbing it.  "What'd I do that for?"  He blinked and looked around.  The cave was the same – warm, filled only with the sounds of the sea.  Samneric were absent, but there were gourds of water and some fruit by the entrance.  Petey was curled up close by, face calm but for occasional twitches.

            Silently, Ralph crawled to the fruit and ate; relieving a hunger he had not known was present.  He left about half for Petey.  The water was cool and refreshing.  He drank a little and splashed some on his face and chest, again leaving about half for Petey.  Then he folded himself into the darkest, coolest corner of the cave and did the only thing that kept him sane – a crude form of meditation.

            He had learned it long ago, from an aunt who had traveled to India.  It saved him now, keeping him calm, and relaxed, and able to put out of mind the misery that hung over the island.  When he was in trance with his breath mingling with that of the ocean, there were no thoughts of the eternity that awaited him, of the shame, of the fear…  Only a calm nothingness.

                        ~                                              ~                                              ~

            In a clearing near the centre of the island, Jack stood and examined the boy he had once considered as his second-in-command.  Roger was short and stocky, with a thick chest and short neck.  He was almost ape-like, with long arms and bowed legs.  Black hair already curled on his chest and darkened his cheeks.  Big hands opened and clenched at his sides.  Jack stared at those hands and felt sick in his stomach.

            "What're you doing out here, Jack?" the shorter boy asked.  "Why aren't you in your hole?"  He grinned, showing his large white teeth.  Anger rose like bile in Jack's throat.

            "Shut your mouth," he snapped.  "You're to be punished for torturing Petey.  That's what WE are here for."  His hunters shifted and came forward to flank their chief.

            "What happened to bein' free, Jack?"  Roger grinned again.  "We all know what happens to chiefs that don't let us be free."  Behind Roger, Maurice, his constant companion, and a small horde of little'uns looked with interest to Jack.  Jack scowled, his fierce anger burning hotter every second.

            "What happened to Petey being free?" he demanded.  His face was hot.  His entire body was hot.

            "A little'un?" Roger asked, seemingly incredulous.  He turned and grabbed one of the small boys behind him.  "Little'uns aren't free."  Roger hit the boy and threw him to the ground, where he started to cry.  "See?  They can't do nothing.  They don't deserve to be free."

            "You don't choose that!"  Jack was yelling now, arms swinging wide.  "I am chief!  I choose if they are free!  And I choose that they are."

            "You are chief," Roger echoed.  "You are only chief because no one will challenge you!"  He stepped forward, chest thrust out.  "I will challenge!  I will be chief!"

            Silence flooded into the clearing, like a wave from the sea.  The little'uns were remarkably quiet – even the crying one had ceased his sniffling.  Jack and Roger stared at each other, unflinching.  The hunters shifted.  Maurice's giant shoulders lifted with his breath.

            "Fine."  Jack's anger had turned white.  It seared him, turning his vision black and white and red.  "This night I will hunt you."

            Roger nodded.  "I'll be waiting."

            Jack tightened his fists and spun on his heel, striding stiffly out of the clearing.  His hunters, uncertain but loyal, trailed behind.  They knew Jack's anger, though, knew the hot, sudden lash of it, so they were quiet.  Bastion occupied himself with comforting Dru. 

            Jack stormed clear to the edge of the island.  When he reached the inevitable water he did not stop, but dived in.  His hunters halted and milled on the beach, waiting for him to return and command them.

            "I wonder what Roger did to Petey," Bill wondered aloud.  He was marking patterns into the sand with his spear.  

            "I don't think we've seen Jack this mad before…"  Robert shaded his eyes to look out on the ocean, where a red speck could be seen bobbing on the waves, occasionally disappearing as a larger wave would push it under the water.  "Do you think he'll really… hunt Roger?"  His voice faltered, brimming with either trepidation or eagerness.  Jack's hunters did not like Roger.

            Over the three years that the boys had lived on the island, two factions had grown and separated the tribe.  Jack, the chief, was the leader of one faction, while Roger was the leader of the other.  It had only been a matter of time for a conflict to occur between them.  It was almost a relief… the storm that had been brewing would finally break.

            "Who do you think will win?"  Henry's question brought Bill's head around and Bastion looked up from his spider.

            "Jack…  Of course…"  Bill said it slowly.  He was trying to forget Roger's nearly adult build and the cold, flat look that glimmered from his eyes.

            Any further discussion was interrupted by the appearance of Jack himself, rising from the waters like some ancient god.  His wet hair lay across his shoulders, gleaming like copper blood against tanned skin.  For a moment, the hunters did not see the 16-year-old boy, gawky and young.  They saw their chief – a strong, ruthless being whose wild nature drove him to hunt and kill and care.  And the sight of him like this weakened their knees yet strengthened their hearts.  

            Nothing could bring down their chief.


	6. Chapter Six

**Disclaimer:**  Mah…  I'm too tired to try and steal Jack or the island…  He's on his own…  Maybe Ralph will protect him…  Either way, they still belong to Mr. G…  *sniffles*

**Author's Note:  **I am so so so sorry this took so damn long.  School was stupid and gave me a whole bunch of early exams.  =P  Nuts to them.  I've also been…  distracted…  by my sweetie =3  I encourage you to go check out her GREAT fic, …   Maybe I'll get really happy and write faster =3  Mwahahahahah…   

Anyway, I'm SOOOOO happy that you guys like this thing, it's been great to write, and I'm sure it will be…  However, I'm having a bit of a problem with what I'm supposed to do next with them…  Jack and Ralph aren't the most … "easy" characters to write…  So if anyone has any suggestions, please don't hesitate =3

Oh, one last thing…   It's really late, and I'm quite tired…  So there're probably a couple mistakes in this chapter.  Go ahead and yell at me for them and I'll change them.

**Warnings:  **Finally!!!   A little bit of slash (whoo!), even though it's just a little kiss…

**Q & A:  ***sobbing* Why doesn't anyone ask questions???   Even personal ones??  I need some questions!!!!

Sing the Little Children

Six (finally)

It was late afternoon.  Jack and his hunters had finally returned to Castle Rock, where they could sit outside and talk under the cover of the ocean's breathing.  Ralph sat within the darkness of the cave, watching them.  Several times he saw the three hunters looking at him, then quickly away, as though he were a secret that they all knew, but weren't supposed to know.  When their staring grew tiresome, Ralph made obscene gestures at them until they began to blush under their paint and had to look away.

Jack had his eyes focused unwaveringly on the horizon, as blue as the waters.  He remained silent, even as his hunters murmured their patchwork plans.  The intense rage had faded to a dull throb, a slow burn that he'd bottled down.  Roger had to die.  He knew that now.  Where Jack was a Beast, Roger was a disease.  He infected everyone around him with his evil and his bloody desires.

Without noticing, Jack was bending a spear in his hands, his bony knuckles whitening with the pressure.  When it snapped loudly, it brought him abruptly out of his reverie.  The three other boys jumped, and looked up at him fearfully.  

"Jack?" Robert said timidly.  He sat close to the larger Bill, almost cowering.

"Eh?"  Jack blinked and looked down at the broken sticks in his hands.  He dropped them and watched them fall slowly into the throbbing ocean.  When he looked to his hunters, his face was blank.  "I…  I need to be alone.  Wait fer me on the beach."  Without arguing, the three scrambled to their feet and quickly scampered away, Bastion in the lead.

When they were out of sight, Jack turned to the cave and slunk inside.

"It's finally happened."  Ralph said it as a statement, not a question.  He sat cross-legged against the back wall.  Petey was a small bundle of hides in a corner to Jack's right.  Ralph smiled and giggled.  "Finally, finally…"  

"You don't sound upset."

"You think I'd get in a tizzy over all this?"  Suddenly, Ralph's face hardened.  He glared.  He spread his arms; taking in the cave with its dirt and debris, Petey, Jack, the island itself.  "I've been WAITING for this," he hissed.  "The end of this existence as a damned animal.  WE are the pigs, Merridew, and you've hunted us down--"

"NO!  It was Roger!"  Jack shook his head roughly.  The anger was mixing with fear and the pain of confinement as his fabricated world crumpled in around him.  "Roger did it all.  He's evil.  Bloody.  It was Roger."

"It was you."  Ralph's narrow blue eyes burned.  "You trapped us here, killed us all…"

"No!!"

"Oh, yes!"  Ralph unfolded and stood, meeting Jack head on.  The two boys, scrawny and dirty and lost, yet powerful in their wildness, faced each other with something like hatred.  The one, pale and ghost-like, forced the other back.  "Greedy, bloodthirsty, jealous… You couldn't control yourself, couldn't control anything.  All you wanted was to be chief, at any cost.  You make me sick!  Jack!  You're a sickness!"

"No…"  He moaned it, his voice harsh, over-used.  

"Yes, yes!"  Ralph's eyes gleamed with a sharp madness.  "Oh, this is rich!  Blaming it all on Roger…"  He unfolded himself slowly, and, using the wall, pulled himself to his feet.  "It was always you.  Roger followed you first, dancing and screaming.  Playing your spear-games, killing-games, BLOOD-games…"  He said it sing-song.  His body swayed from side to side and his eyes closed, as though listening to some music only he could hear.  "I dream of death, and blood, and rocks, and the ocean, and the island… I dream of darkness…"

"God, Ralph, you've gone barmy…"  Jack backed away a step.

"You're the mad one!"  Ralph rushed forward and grabbed Jack's shoulders, shaking him as roughly as he could.  "You, you, you, it's always you!"  A strangled sob wrenched its way out of his chest.  "You did this to me…  Locked me in darkness…  You did this…"  A whimper, another angry sob, and he slid to the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees and burying his face.  

For a long moment Jack stood, uncertain of what to do.  The deep thrum of the ocean grew loud, nearly drowning Ralph's agonized whimpers.  The chief looked around, and down at himself.  Everything was dirty, greasy with sweat and the oils of cooked meat.  A reek he'd never noticed before hung onto him.  Petey was, miraculously, still asleep, locked in some twilight world of dreams and half-formed horrors.  Jack felt that he had woken up to find that life was the real nightmare.  He was bare, vulnerable, stripped of everything he'd ever thought or believed was reality.

Feeling only some deep regret, like a child finding out that he'd accidentally injured his younger brother, he stepped forward and went down on his knees before Ralph's shaking form.  He reached out, touched his fingers gingerly to Ralph's pale arm.  When there was no response, he moved closer and put his arms all the way around the other boy.  

After the initial contact, Jack was amazed at how good it felt to be doing this, feeling a warm body against his own.  It was something completely unexpected, as though he had stepped off of a cliff and, instead of crashing on the rocks below, had fallen into warm, buoyant waters.  He closed his eyes and pressed closer, reveling in this new feeling.  Ralph was pliable and unresisting, even quieting somewhat.  

"What are you doing?" Ralph asked when Jack began to pull the slighter boy towards him, almost into his lap.  He looked up with red, puffy eyes and a drawn face.

"I don't know," Jack replied.  "I…  I really don't.  I just, I don't know.  I want to…  I want to feel like I'm…  Like I'm human…"  His explanation trailed off, and he looked down at Ralph.  "Ralph…  I…  I don't want to be the Beast…  I want to be Jack…  I'm sorry, Ralph.  I'm sorry.  I…  I never wanted it like this…  We were so free.  I don't know what happened…  I'm sorry…  That I hurt you…"  

He stared into Ralph's eyes, a blue greyer and wiser than his own.  The world around them faded away, leaving the ocean's breath mingling with their own.  His heartbeat was loud in his ears, Ralph's bloodshot, misty eyes and pale face and pink lips filled his vision.  Wondering, suddenly, about what they would feel like, and remembering a lifetime ago the stories and pictures of men and women, he ducked his head to touch his own to the ones below him.

He guessed that they were soft, but he couldn't really feel anything because his own lips were so dry.  Ralph's body tensed up in his arms, then relaxed and went limp.  Jack wondered about what the big deal was with kissing.  He didn't feel any different doing it, there wasn't anything really all that tantalizing, like it was supposed to be in forgotten books and movies…

 When he stopped and pulled back, Ralph blinked and looked up at him.  

"Why?"

"I don't know."  Jack felt his face flushing.  "I don't know why."

They fell into an awkward silence.  Jack ran the tip of his tongue over his dry lips.  Ralph gradually let his legs stretch out and relaxed against Jack.  The two looked anywhere but at each other.  They felt like children again, more lost than ever in unfamiliar territory.  

"I--" Ralph started, then stopped.  Jack looked at him expectantly.  Ralph's eyes flicked around the cave, as though looking for something to inspire him.  He bit his lower lip.  Looked at Jack, then quickly away again.  "I…  I want to feel human, too…"  A tremor ran through him.  "I want to be a person again."

There was another silence, but this time it was interrupted from outside the cave.

"Ralph!  Ralph!"  It was Samneric, scrambling up the path.  Jack and Ralph quickly disengaged, so that when the twins rounded the bend, Ralph was checking on Petey and Jack was examining some charcoal sketches on the wall.

"What is it?" Ralph asked, looking up as the two boys slid into the cave.  

"Ralph!  It's Roger--"

"And the little'uns--"

"He's rounding them up on the beach--"

"Makin' a fire!"

"A HUGANTIC fire!"

"Somethin' is goin' on--"

"Somethin' bad."

They stopped babbling, looking excitedly from Ralph to Jack, waiting for some reaction.  

Ralph looked at Jack.  "He's your problem, not mine."

Jack looked like he was about to say something, then shut his mouth with a snap.  He glared, blue eyes beginning to burn again, but turned on his heel and stalked to the cave entrance.

"You," he said shortly to Sam, "with me."  Sam nodded vigorously, looked once more to Ralph, then followed his chief out.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Disclaimer:  **

**El B: **Luckily for Willy G., I'm not as interested in the choirboys, and I promise that I will never, ever, ever—PSYCHE!!!   

El B grabs for the choirboys as Willy G. is lulled into a false sense of security, then makes a daring getaway that involves a helicopter, a horse, a motorcycle, and a blimp with an electric sign on the side that says "Jeena, please marry me!"  Willy G. plots to get back his boys and over the course of the next month there is tragedy, comedy, action, and lots of romance.  But you guys don't care about that, do you?  You don't care about the possibility of a multi-billion dollar epic that could be made from such a fantastic story.  Pff, nuts to you guys…   I guess I can tell you the end then…  El B is foiled, and Willy G. is once again the sole owner of the island and choirboys.

**El B:**  Aww…

**Author's Note:** I can't believe how many reviews I got after that last little thing, and it wasn't even a real chapter!  Very cool.  Thank you so much for the names, too.  I'm too lazy to look them up in the book, though if anyone wants to yell at me about a name that I should have used, then I will happily change it.  Anyway, the rating of this chapter is pretty mild, but I expect that I'll get into something gruesome in the next part or two…  Hopefully.  Mwahahahah…   So, yeah, enjoy!

**Questions and Answers:**

1) "Fan" asked if there're any teachers that piss me off, and I have to say that there aren't really, even when I was in high school.  I was too much of a teacher's pet, so my teachers liked me, and I kinda just did my own thing.  If you're having problems with teachers, I say: just let it slide, baby, 'cause it won't last forever.

2) Random Minion asked when I'm gonna make my bio longer.  That made me giggle, I must admit.  I'm pretty boring, and don't really have much to say.  I mean, how interesting is "Canadian serial killer with a fetish for choir boys trapped on islands…"   I mean, um…  This session is over!      (If ya wanna chat with me on MSN, feel free to add me… I don't bite, though you may be irritated by my incessant nattering…)

Sing the Little Children

Seven

Jack's long legs stretched behind and before him as he ran down the path leading to the beach.  Sam lagged behind, not as quick as Jack, nor as willing to reach Roger and the crowd of boys he had gathered.  His brother and he hadn't known what it was that Roger was trying to do, but they had been filled with dread.  The twins were in a unique position in the politics of the island, neither on Jack's side nor Roger's, but they knew that if confronted, they would be judged as Jack's followers.  

The reek of burning wet wood hit them before they reached the beach.  Sam stumbled as his eyes burned, but Jack ignored it and pushed onward.  He hit the sand at a run, spraying the sun-heated gold into the air.  

Roger was close, not even halfway down the beach.  His back was towards Jack, and beyond him was the biggest fire that Jack had seen in three years.  The older boy had the little'uns chanting and running around the flames in a crazy dance, holding sticks like spears, or waving torches.  Even with the heat of the day pushing on them still, he could feel sweltering waves coming from the blaze.

"Roger!" Jack screamed, barely heard.  The chanting and the roar of the fire were deafening.  He could no longer hear the throb of the sea.  "Roger!"  It was the Beast, howling and shrieking its anger.  As he approached, one of the little'uns paused in his revolution to stare up at his chief, pink mouth agape in his dirty mask.  Jack grabbed the little'un's arm and hauled him forward, pushing his face into the boy's.  "Bugger off," he snarled.  The boy, fear plain on his face, dropped his stick and ran for the jungle with animal motions, running on all fours when the ground ascended to the edge of the trees.  

_Stick the Beast and cut its throat,_

_Hunt the Beast and cut its throat_

_Kill the Beast and cook it up_

_Cook the Beast and eat it up!_

The boys' chant rang in Jack's ears under the fire's dull roar.  His own growl was smothered.  The little'uns danced around him in their orbit of the fire, skipping just out of his way when he reached out for them.  He snarled.  They had animal faces, twisted into macabre grins and sneers, layered with grime and old blood.  Some dared to act as if they would hit him with their sticks, though they would avoid him at the last moment.

Roger stood on the other side of the river of little'uns, back to the fire, arms lifted.  His face was serene.  "Jack!" he called, man's voice able to rise over the chants and the roar.  "No more waiting.  No hunting…  Now!  Now I challenge!"  His dark eyes reflected the red fire.  

Jack had had enough.  This upstart Roger had been pushing every order Jack made, every rule.  He was continually nipping at Jack's heels, then hiding behind those he would call 'friend.'  Now, though… Now, Roger was alone, with only children to protect him.

A flash of Petey's limp body appeared behind his eyes, followed by remembered fear and anger from a life he no longer knew.

Jack's breath quickened.  Blood rushed in his ears, joining the fire's roar.  He clenched his fists.  He could feel the paint on his face flaking, but he ignored it.  His eyes bulged.  A pressure built in his chest, and he only barely realized that he was screaming.  

He ran forward, scattering the little'uns, and hit Roger full-force, knocking the other boy into the heated sand.  They tumbled sideways, downhill, toward the sea, struggling for supremacy.  Jack grabbed at Roger's hair and face, pushing his palm into the other's nose.  Roger swung one arm wildly, buffeting Jack's shoulders and head.  They rolled and Jack found himself on top, sitting on Roger's stomach.  He reared up and pummelled the other boy with tight fists.  Roger used one arm to cover his face, and reached up and dug his nails into Jack's throat.  Jack choked and grabbed Roger's wrist, trying to pull his hand away.  Roger smiled with bloodied lips, and tightened his hand.  He used his other arm to lever them up, so he was sitting with Jack writhing on his lap.  

Jack coughed and tried to breathe.  Roger shook him and laughed.  "Sucks to Jack!" he cried.  Jack's ears rang.  He reached out desperately for Roger's face, but his grasp was weak.  "Sucks to Jack!"  Jack couldn't feel his body anymore.  The colour in his vision faded away until the world was grey.  Roger's mouth opened, but Jack couldn't hear what he said for the ringing in his ears.  The light drained away, leaving Jack in darkness.

*          *          *

Sam didn't stick around to watch Jack fall.  He ran back the way he had come, toward Castle Rock and the relative safety of Ralph.  The chanting of the little'uns followed him.  His lungs burned and feet ached from slapping the ground too much.  He jumped over fallen logs and wove about the trees, tearing creepers from their anchors when they reached out at him.  

About halfway to Castle Rock, he ran into Maurice… literally.  The large boy was knocked back a pace when Sam bounced off of him and sprawled into the undergrowth, a yelp spilling from his throat.  When Sam looked up, his breath caught in fear.  Maurice's face was painted completely red, like the demons Sam remembered from church.  It filled his vision as Maurice lumbered toward him.

*          *          *

Jack's three loyal hunters were seated on a beach away from where Roger and Jack fought.  Robert threw a stone into the waves.  Bill lay on his stomach, drawing pictures in the sun.  Bastion lay on his back, eyes closed as though asleep. The sun was beginning to fall, and soon it would be dark.

"Will Jack kill Roger?" Robert asked suddenly.  He squatted, arms hanging low, head down.  He didn't look at his companions.  Bill watched the other hunter, then turned back to his drawing.  Bastion made no response.  "I wish we was rescued."  Robert looked out at the glistening blue of the ocean.  "I wish we was rescued and we didn't hunt no more…"

"I wish you'd shut your mouth."  The boys jumped and looked up the beach.  Three of the other hunters, those whose loyalty to Jack was questionable, had come up, spears held ready at their sides, faces freshly painted into red masks.  The one in the middle, the one who'd spoken, stepped forward.  His body was long and gangling, though not to the extent of Jack's, his hair a dull brown.  Teeth flashed in a wide grin, splitting the mask.  

"Jack didn't call no hunt, Luke," Bill said, getting to his feet.  The larger boy watched the other hunter warily, eyes flicking from the red mask to the soot darkened spear.  Bastion followed suit, standing a step behind Bill.  Robert kept the stones in his hands.

"We don't follow Jack no more," the middle boy, Luke, said.  "Roger is Chief now."

"Shut up!  He is not!"  It was Robert who shouted, though Bill and Bastion both moved forward, ready to back their words with force.

"Roger is Chief.  He sent us to hunt you."  The spears were rising, red masks twisting, transforming into demon faces that danced of their own accord over filthy bodies.  

Jack's hunters wanted to question this, wanted to question what had happened, or what the others were going to do, but they found they already knew.  Fear opened in their bellies, pouring a cold acid into their bellies.

"You can't hunt us," Bill finally said.  "We're hunters, too."  Bastion and Robert nodded, muttering their agreement.  But Roger's loyals made no reply.  The two on the sides fanned out, one standing between Jack's hunters and the jungle, the other blocking a route to the sea.

"You ain't hunters no more."  Luke was moving toward them.  "You're pigs!"

Sand sprayed into the air as Luke lunged forward, spear stabbing into the space where Bill's stomach had been moments before.  The other red-masked hunters attacked only seconds after, striking at Robert and Bastion with their too-sharp spears.  Robert, small and quick, dodged with ease, his attacker being slow of both body and wit.  Bastion's assailant struck once with his spear, then threw it away, as he was quite clumsy in its use.  Once without his weapon, he grappled with Bastion, their arms locked in a tightening embrace.

Bill grunted when Luke's spear dug into his hip, though without enough force to leave more than a scratch and a bruise.  He grabbed the shaft and wrested it away from the other hunter, his greater build giving him an advantage.  But Luke gave away with unexpected ease, leaving Bill startled long enough for Luke to jump at him and bear him down.  They rolled in the sand for a brief moment, flesh grinding sand into flesh, hands finding purchase on sweat-slicked limbs.  Bill once again prevailed, his weight heavy on the small of Luke's back.  

There was a sudden scream.  The boy who had attacked Bastion flailed around, arms slapping at his skin.  Bastion stood back, a large red welt rising on the side of his face.  Robert and his attacker, too, stopped to watch as the screaming hunter splashed into the water.  Silhouetted against the setting sun, his body stiffened, his stream strangled into silence.  There was a sound like a rotten fruit being squished under foot, and he dropped into the water.  It took a very long minute for the other boys to realize that he wasn't going to get up and come out of the water.

"They never bit no one before," Bastion was muttering to himself, holding his long hair in his hands and staring at it.  "They never bit no one!"  His eyes bulged in his white face, looking from Bill to Robert frantically.  

"What are they?"  Robert moved forward, but kept his distance.  The hunter that had been fighting with Robert backed away, looking to the water as though he would fish out his companion, then spun and dashed off toward the jungle.  Bill let Luke up off the ground and the boy followed his friend into the trees.

"They're – They're…"  Bastion held the rope of his hair out to Robert and Bill.  In its dark depths they could see little black bodies, glittering metallically.  

"God…"

"They're my friends…"  He shook his head at their horror.  "No, no…  They never bit no one…"  Bill and Robert could make no reply.

There was silence as the three hunters stared at each other, neither wanting to turn away.  The sea held only death, the forest a fear of what had happened to their Chief.  But between them was a sickness, a rotting sense that the life they were leading was no true life at all, only a lingering agony that could finish in death.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Disclaimer:** Once again, I am too weary to try and steal the boys and the island. Willy G.'s getting let off too easily… But soon I will finish one of these chapters before 2 AM and have the strength to fight on.  
  
**Author's Note:** I am a lazy bastard. I'm sorry that this took so long!! But I was doing SOME other productive stuff, like writing original stories and – AND- drawing pictures of our favourite choirboys. I mean, somebody had to do it. Anyway, guys, this is it. Not the end, mind you, just the darkest chapter as of yet. I hope it pleases you. Let me know if it's too much, and I'll see what I can do. As always, if there's a mistake, let me know and I'll change it.

Oh! Just as a side note, it's supposed to be all choppy throughout this part because of the lack of full consciousness. And I'm sorry that it's so short. Lots of reading between the lines in this one.

**Warnings: **Savage beatings, non-consensual (and not just the discussion of)

**Sing the Little Children**

**Eight**

The sea heaved and the island rocked as the sun burned all the life from the tiny rock. Only Ralph was left, hiding in the cool depths of Jack's cave. He watched Eric burn away outside the cave entrance.

"G'bye, Ralph," the younger boy said as the flesh melted from his face.

"Bye, Eric."

When Eric was gone, Ralph was not alone. Simon was with him. Simon, with his dark hair and too-bright eyes, was lying beside Ralph, most of his body in shadow.

"I'm sorry I killed you, Simon," Ralph said sadly. He picked up the smaller boy and cuddled him close, like he would a dog. He scratched the dark head. "I didn't mean to."

"That's all right, Ralph." Simon was smiling. "It was mostly the metaphor that killed me."

"I always knew you were cracked."

"So are you, Ralph."

Before Ralph could reply to that, Simon was kissing him.

Simon's kiss was very different from Jack's. Simon had a movie kiss, a happily-ever-after kiss. Simon was holding Ralph's head still and using his tongue and squirming about in a most appealing manner. Ralph felt a sweet tightness in his body. He laid the dark-haired boy on the floor and sank into him. He was throbbing, like a heartbeat, like a wound, like the sea. He felt that he was close to something, as he throbbed inside Simon, something dark and hot.

Simon started to scream. Ralph hit him to make him shut up. He liked it. He liked the fear and pain. He liked the strength.

He was Roger, staring down at his victim, his prey. Simon was Petey and Jack, crying and snarling at the same time.

It was Jack's eyes, wild and blue, that rose up and consumed him.

**/O/**

Ralph woke to a great heat and wetness between his legs. Still drowsy from sleep, he moaned and curled around the hide that was bundled at his hips. His hands twisted the rough leather, rubbing it against himself. His lips curled in a sleepy smile as the flesh of his thighs and belly shivered. He hummed with pleasure at the waves of sensation that both exhilarated and relaxed him. His hands moved more quickly.

When his fingers touched the stickiness beneath the hide, he gasped and started. He sat up, bowing over his folded legs, and glanced around the cave. Petey was curled against one of the walls, closer to the entrance than Ralph. The little'un was obviously asleep, buried under a pile of hides with only his tense face and a small fist showing. Sighing a short breath of relief, he brought his hand up.

With the dim light that reached to the back of the cave, he could see a milky fluid coating most of his fingers. The sight made heat rise in his face. He was embarrassed; despite his situation, despite the barbaric existence in which he found himself. He was embarrassed, because his body was trembling on the edge of the last great taboo.

Flashes of his dream rose up in his mind and he shuddered as a chill crawled down his spine.

Quickly, quietly, Ralph wiped his thighs and the flesh between them. The hide, now quite sticky, he tossed into the smallest of the cave's alcoves. He stood, letting the air steal some of the heat from his skin, and went to the front of the cave.

"Hallo, Eric," he said upon seeing the cave's lone guard. Eric looked up and Ralph was glad to see the smooth skin of his round face.

"Hallo, Ralph." Eric appeared unusually pensive as he sat against the cliff wall, his legs stretched out and large feet jutting out into space. His spear's point rested on his shoulder, its butt against the rocky path. His expression was troubled as he stared off into the misty horizon.

The sun was hovering just above the mountain, lengthening its shadow into something more threatening. Ralph had to look away from it. He stared down at his wrists, with their long scabs, and at the sea, which had swallowed the broken bodies of Ralph's own past. He stared at it and wondered if it would, in the end, swallow his future as well.

"You should go back inside." Eric seemed to suddenly realise that Ralph was there, standing next to him on the Castle Rock path. The hunter got to his feet, moving his arms as though to usher Ralph back to the cave, though he did not touch the former Chief. "Jack'd be real pissed if he saw you outside…"

Ralph, although he doubted that Jack would see him, did as he was told. He wandered over to Petey and knelt by the little'un. Eric, after watching him for a moment, went back outside. Peter's face was slick with sweat, and hot to the touch. Ralph dipped his fingers in the bowl of tepid water that the twins had brought earlier and dribbled it on Petey's chapped lips, hoping to get some liquid into the little'un. The little boy turned his face deeper into the arm beneath his head and Ralph let up.

Ralph moved away from the little'un, scuttling back until he was against the far wall, where he hunched over his knees.

He glared straight ahead. Keeping his mind away from everything. He wanted to sleep again, but was afraid of what he might dream. He wanted to walk out of the cave, push by Eric, and go swim in the ocean. He wanted to find Jack and demand to know what had happened between them. He wanted to find Roger and drop a rock on his head.

Most of all, he wanted to go home.

**/O/**

Jack had woken into a nightmare.

His face was pressed into the sand. A small rock was grinding into his cheekbone and he could breathe through only one nostril. His arms were tightly bound, making his shoulders ache with a pain that nearly matched the pounding of his head. When he managed to slit open one eye, he regretted it. The slanting beams of the setting sun were like spikes driving into his brain. He groaned and tried to roll over.

"'Ey, Jack!" Roger's bellow made the world shudder. Fear and pain and nausea warred within him as he felt Roger's weight settle on his back. He could not prevent a whimper when Roger's fist buried itself in his hair and pulled his head up. He felt the larger boy's breath on his cheek. "I'm Chief now, Jack. You lose."

Roger shoved Jack's face back into the sand. Jack, concerned now with the pain blossoming in his nose, was barely aware of Roger lifting off of him.

"Bring him," he heard from far away.

Arms were looped under his, rough hands and blunt fingers digging into him. The muscles of his back and shoulders spasmed and he did not know which pain was worse. He tried to get his feet under him, but his captors were too quick and his body unwilling to do as he commanded. He was dragged uphill, through the undergrowth, over logs and creepers. For several minutes he blacked out again, until he opened his eyes to see the soggy jungle floor beneath his face.

He lay this way for several minutes as bodies moved about his still form. Occasionally, he would be kicked, but he felt numb and barely recognized the fact. His mind was blank, loosely focussed on the pain that had become his entirety. It was only when he scented smoke that he became somewhat more aware of his surroundings.

"I am Chief!" Roger was yelling, announcing. Jack wondered who he had gathered at his fire. "I am Chief! Jack is not!" Roger was getting louder. "Jack is nothing! Jack is shit!" There was a roar, as many voices rose up in approval. "I am Chief!"

Familiar anger began to burn once more in Jack's belly. Some of the pain faded.

"Jack is nothing! Jack is a pig!" He could sense Roger's closeness, as though the other boy was standing over him. "What do we do to pigs?"

_Stick the pig_

_Cut its throat_

The chanting of little'uns, with a few deeper big'un voices. Jack would have been scared if he wasn't so pissed off. He gritted his teeth and tested his bindings, then quickly gave up as pain stabbed into his shoulders.

"I'm gonna stick you, Jack," Roger muttered, for Jack's ears alone. He ran the point of his spear down Jack's spine. When it reached Jack's tailbone, the place where the scrap he wore about his waist fell, he dug the point in. A keen worked its way up from Jack's throat despite his every effort to keep it inside. Roger laughed. "A feast!" The new Chief's cry was taken up by his followers. "Hunters! Kill some pigs! Hunt, hunt, hunt! We will feast tonight! We will feast forever!"

There was much screaming and shouting of glee and the pounding of feet on earth and the crash of bodies through the jungle. Soon, Jack could hear nothing but the cracking of the fire and his own laboured breathing.

With no warning, his feet were grabbed up and he was being dragged. He was dragged for several metres, until he thought that he would suffocate from the dirt being shoved up his nose. Finally, his legs were dropped with little ceremony, the top of one of them hitting a sharp rock. As he tried to snort the dirt out of his nose, he heard Roger pacing around him.

Roger said nothing, so Jack was unprepared for the short whistle and the sharp burn that etched itself into his back. It was closely followed by a second, and a third, and a fourth. Jack lost count as black crawled around the edges of his awareness. He began to thrash despite himself, tears flooding his tightly shut eyes. Pleas formed in his mouth, only to be swallowed and transformed into wordless moans.

Eventually, Roger stopped. Jack floated on semi-awareness, as though his mind was not quite attached to his body. The beating of his heart was overly loud. He listened to it avidly, waiting for the moment when it would stop. But it went on, and he continued to live.

"I've wanted this so long," Roger's rubbed like gravel against Jack's ears. He was sitting on Jack again, straddling the redhead's hips. His face was close to Jack's. "Teach you who's boss."

Even floating as he was, fear worked its way into him. His anger was fleeing, leaving him to deal with this reality alone. He pulled at his bonds again, but the pain in his muscles was increased by the burning of his flayed skin. He could not struggle to any great extent.

Roger's hands were on his shoulders, pressing him into the ground. He bucked, trying to keep his head up, and Roger laughed. And then Roger was touching his back and he nearly screamed. It felt like the larger boy was tearing the flesh from his bones. He thrashed, uselessly kicking his legs. Red spots began appearing at the back of his eyes.

When Roger left the lacerated flesh, Jack barely had the time to regain his breath. He could feel the new Chief fumbling at the small of his back, then the tearing of cloth. Blunt fingers were digging into his hips, bruising him. He bit his lip to keep from crying out, tasted blood and savoured it.

He was startled by a sharp pain in one buttock. He writhed, but was held down. He could too easily imagine Roger's large teeth breaking his skin, being stained crimson with his blood. He struggled, fighting back a wave of panic that was building just beyond the last vestiges of his anger.

Something hot, and thick, and sticky slid across the skin of his thigh.

Petey's broken body bled across his vision.

The wave broke. His body, suffused with fear, wriggled and squirmed and spasmed, trying to free itself. Roger was too strong, with his large hands grinding Jack into the dirt.

When it happened, it happened quickly.

Jack screamed.

**/O/**

Ralph and Eric stared out at the darkened island, the scream echoing in their ears.

"I don't think he's coming back," Ralph said quietly. In the depths of the cave, Petey cried.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Disclaimer:** Even if I owned Jack, I wouldn't use him to make moneyâ He would be mine, all mine!!! And no one may touch him!! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!

**Author's Note:** So, uh coughs it's been a while, hasn't it? I'm sorry. I have no excuse. I mean, I've been doing stuff, but, but sobs I'm sorry!! Please don't hate me!! I'll do better! I've defeated Writer's Block, and I now know what I'm gonna do with these guys, and I've even had ideas about a sequel (if you guys can stand me for that long). And yeah. Please don't hurt me.

As usual, tell me if there's a typo or something doesn't make sense.

Oh! If anyone's interested, I now have a livejournal . Might be handy to check if I'm still alive.

**Warnings:** Ummmâ Nothing too bad happens here. It's a short chapter (I'm sorry) that discusses some of the non-con, and fighting and stuff. This is really a bit of an "explanation" chapter, where nothing really happens but there's lots of talking.

Sing the Little Children

Nine

Sam watched it all. Tears trickled down his dirty cheeks and he cowered into the dirt below his belly, but he watched. He watched Jack scream and thrash as Roger laid his body over the slimmer boy's. He watched the blood. He watched the pain.

It was only when Roger had rolled off Jack that Sam buried his head in his arms and cried. He cried for Jack, he cried for himself, he cried because there was nothing that he could do or say that would change what had happened.

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder and he looked up to see Maurice's red face.

"You're next," the large boy said. "When the Chief is ready, you're next." His grin would haunt Sam for many years.

There was movement about the clearing. Small bodies were filtering out of the trees, some dragging wood, others fruit. One group of little'uns had with them the carcass of a piglet and Sam could not hold back a groan, as Jack's first rule was broken. No piglets, he had said, or else there would be no pigs. Of all the new hunters who brought back meat, only one group had an adult pig.

Roger was speaking, proclaiming something to his followers, but Sam didn't listen. He was crying again, afraid of what would happen to him. Jack's scream rang in his skull, echoing louder to block out the sounds in the clearing around him. It was almost a relief, as he didn't want to listen to Roger insult Jack anymore.

Sam's tears were interrupted again, by the weight of a body falling beside him. He looked up, then flinched away as he saw the red hair and blood-streaked skin. Jack's face was turned toward him, but it was completely slack. His mouth was slightly open and his eyes were puffy red slits. Sam swallowed heavily and pulled away from the former Chief.

"Don't let him die." Maurice loomed over them. "Roger will do to you what he has planned for him." Without waiting for a reaction, he left to join the feasting.

"Don't die, Jack," Sam whispered, choking on the words. He could not bring himself to touch the dirty, soiled skin. "Please don't die."

Soon after nightfall, before Ralph and Eric were able to decide what to do, Jack's three hunters came around the bend of the path, breathless and pale faced. Robert was the first to come to a skittering stop in front of the cave.

"Where's Jack?" He was barely able to fit the words between great, gulping breaths of air. "Something happened!" He was staring at Eric, though his gaze slipped to Ralph once before he wrenched it away again.

"Who screamed?" Bastion came up behind Robert, less breathless but far paler. "There was a scream!" He had lost his spear. His empty hands clenched at his thighs.

Eric was silent, backing away from the hunters until he hit the cliff wall by the cave's opening. His eyes were wide, glittering in the shadows. He was lost.

"Speak up!" Robert advanced, spear held at his side. Although he was of smaller stature, Robert's expression was edged, dangerous. He slapped Eric's shoulder. "Tell us what happened."

"I-I don't know." He was shaking. "There were little'uns, and Roger, on the beach. There was a fire."

"Roger!" Robert turned to Bastion and Bill. "Those other hunters – you don't think" He trailed off, unwilling to say what could not be possible.

"What happened to you three?" Ralph spoke carefully, quietly. He stepped up by Eric, emerging from the darker shadows of the cave. The hunters winced and averted their gaze from what he knew was a strange and eerie sight. None of them answered.

_Perhaps I don't exist_, he thought, then shook his head.

"Listen to me," he began again. "That scream was Jack. Something happened to him. If we don't work together, we won't get anywhere." It was easy to talk to them, surprisingly easy. His voice was hard, belying the weakened body that spoke.

None of the hunters seemed to know what to do. They looked at each other, shuffling nervously. It was Robert who spoke first.

"Roger did this," he said. He still wouldn't look at Ralph. "He did something to Jack and we gotta do something."

"We'll sneak on him!" Bill exclaimed. "We'll stab him." He was breathing easier. Bastion and Robert nodded, but Ralph shook his head.

"What about his hunters?" Ralph moved closer, forcing them to look at him, to acknowledge him. "Maurice, Luke, Collin, and the others? You're outnumbered. There must be eight of them--"

"Seven." Bastion's face was in shadow. "There are seven hunters."

Ralph nodded once. "You are three, they are seven."

"Don't forget me!" When all eyes turned to Eric the boy scratched at a bite on his belly, slumping his shoulders. "Sam – Sam is there somewhere. He didn't come back."

Ralph counted him in without objection. "Even with four, you're still outnumbered." He felt cold, analytical, as though the part of him that had been locked in a cave was retreating and he was becoming the Chief he once was. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at them. "And you don't know what he did. What happened to Jack. You don't know nothing!" They disgusted him suddenly, these children making plans for fighting a war. Then he returned to himself and remembered that he was fighting with them.

The hunters flinched when he yelled, ducking their shoulders in submission. It gave him a sense of satisfaction and he nodded.

"What if we watched them?" Robert offered. "From the bushes, like. From hiding?"

"Yeah!" Bill was quick to back up his closest friend. "Then, when we see what's goin' on, we can do somethin'."

Ralph nodded. "Good. You can't fight them without knowing what's going on." He looked about himself, then nodded again. "You three go and see what happened, without being seen, then come back." The three straightened and nodded.

"But, Ralph--" Bastion paused, blinking. They were all surprised by Ralph's name, spoken outside of whispers. After several seconds, he continued. "Ralph, Roger's huntersâ Some of them fought us, said that we weren't hunters no more. What if some of them come here?"

Ralph grunted. "Me and Eric'll go somewhere." He thought hard, mind going over what he remembered of the island. "There's a stream, not too far from here. One of the ones with the walls around it, and black sand. We'll be there with Petey."

The hunters nodded. "Alright, Ralph."

Then they were gone.

"Come on, Eric." The younger boy still had a haunted look in his eyes. He stared at Ralph and nodded, following the pale ex-Chief inside.

Roger's clearing was bustling with activity. Boys were cutting meat with rudimentary stone knives, then spitting them on sticks and putting them over two fires that were set in pits on opposite sides of the clearing. Some boys, little'uns, were dancing around the fires, singing and chanting. Roger watched them and was not satisfied. These were children, stupid children, who knew nothing of the darkness that was taking hold of the big'uns. They were innocent.

Roger turned to look into the darkness beyond the clearing's borders, where another shallow pit had been dug close to his "nest." Within the shadows was a pale smudge.

Innocence did not belong on this island.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Disclaimer**: Willy G. owns the boys, the island, etc., and I, the lowly fanfic writer, own nothing blahbity blah blah blah. No big adventure this time, folks... My prayers to the Copywrite Anti-Christ have yet to be successful... But one day... One day Jack will be MINE! BWAHAHAHAHAHAH!

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry. It's been MONTHS, I know... Please forgive me? It's coming close to the end, I can feel it. It won't be long until you can forget about this story all together. Anyway, this chapter was written with the help of my best buddy Kaede and the hours of time I spend in classes staring into space.

Remember, please let me know if something is miss-printed at all and I'll do my best to fix it. Danke.

**Warnings: **Can't think of any... Though this might be the most boring chapter yet. Maybe that's why it took so long to write.

Sing the Little Children

Ten

This night, the stars were concealed, and the only light came from the two fires, one on either side of Roger's clearing. The fires had burnt down until they glowed without a flicker – hot, but tame. The clearing was littered with the remnants of a feast; bones, scraps of inedible flesh, and sleeping little'uns. Bastion, invisible under mud and green paint, skirted the edge of the clearing, his sharp gaze looking for any items of interest. Robert and Bill, he knew, were out there too, scouting Roger's territory.

After several tense minutes of moving silently through brush and clinging creepers, he approached Roger's second clearing, where he and his hunters slept. Seeing the larger lumps of slumbering big'uns sent a thrill of jealousy through Bastion. He, and Jack's other hunters, were not given the honour of sleeping close to their leader.

A snap – too close! – startled the young hunter, and he froze, struggling to hear around his hammering pulse. There was another snap, and he could pick out the shadow-streaked form of one of Roger's hunters, circling the clearing close to the brush. For one heart-stopping moment, Bastion thought that he would be spotted, but the hunter only glanced at the bushes before passing. When he had gone, Bastion breathed deeply to calm himself, and then continued on.

Near the end of this long, bean-shaped clearing was Roger's sleeping place. Bastion paused there to give his eyes time to sort through the shadows, unfocused but ever-observant. As he waited and watched, he played with the tail of his hair, letting his pet insects tickle his fingers. They brought a small, grim smile to his painted face.

There was a groan in the clearing, and Bastion's gaze followed the noise to a hollow carved into the dirt between Roger's bed and the bushes further to Bastion's left. The groaning continued, then was interrupted by whispering. Bastion crept closer, until he could make out what was being said.

"Shh, shh, be quiet… wake up and do it again… please, Jack, be quiet." So one of those figures was Jack, and the other, though the voice was unrecognizable in a whisper, was likely Sam. The groaning became a kind of dry, retching cough, and Sam's voice rose, frantic to quiet the ex-Chief. "Jack, be quiet! Roger'll wake up! He'll do it again. Don't wake him, please, Jack!"

"Shut up!"

Bastion jumped at the shout, wincing as his knee ground into a sharp root. The speaker, judging by the huge shadow, was Maurice. Sam was whimpering now, and rare anger rose in Bastion's gut. Although the he had never been close to the twins, they were on the same team. Bastion entertained the fantasy of leaping out of the bushes and defending his Chief, but it was too easy to imagine what would happen when Roger's other hunters woke up.

Jack and Sam were silent now, and Bastion had found out all that he could, so he turned and worked his way back through the brush. When he hit a path, he sped up, still careful of his footfalls in the darkness. It was easy to lose himself in thought, as quiet sounds and scents enveloped him. There were night-blooms out there, he knew, that one could spend an entire night looking for without a single glimpse. Only bees and ants and butterflies would find those flowers.

Bastion paused only once, to watch a spider spinning its silver web, before he reached the grotto that Ralph had specified. There were many of them dotting the island, but this was the closest to Castle Rock, and one of the smallest. He wouldn't have noticed it if he didn't know it was there. As it was, it took some fumbling through the brush before he heard the water. Bastion pushed his way through draping creepers to reach the sandy alcove.

The other boys didn't notice him at first. Ralph was up to his shoulders in the water, looking pale and queer, as if he created his own light. Petey, the abused little'un, was with him, seeming alert for the first time in days. They splashed quietly together without speaking. Eric stood on the black sand, back to the bathers. He held a spear stiffly at his side. Bastion considered creeping up on the younger boy, but that would be too cruel a joke to play.

"Hallo," he called softly. He could not see expressions in the dark, but a strangled exclamation came from Eric. "It's Bastion," he continued, stepping out of the undergrowth.

"Hallo." Ralph was the only one who spoke, standing so that the water lapped at his waist. Bastion averted his gaze, as goosebumps prickled his flesh. Very little frightened the long-haired hunter, but ghost stories haunted him. "Did you find much out?" the specter asked, wading ashore.

"Uh, a fair bit." He was finding it difficult to speak. The image before him contrasted terribly with the sun-washed Ralph who had led them years ago. _We loved you, _he suddenly wanted to shout. _We trusted you to keep us safe! But now all we do is fight and bleed._ "They had a feast. Sam and Jack are kept by Roger's bed, close to the bushes, but all the hunters were sleeping 'round."

"How's Sam?" Eric interrupted, taking a half-step forward.

"Alright." Bastion pitied Eric for having a brother, though Eric hadn't had to make friends with spiders.

"Did you see what happened to Jack?" Ralph was close enough that Bastion could see the dark hollows of his eyes. He backed away.

"No... no I just heard him. Groans and coughs, sounded like he was going to be sick." His body couldn't decide whether it was hot or cold. He wrapped his arms around himself.

"At least he's alive." Ralph turned away, moving slowly. For the first time, Bastion wondered at Ralph's abilities. Perhaps his captivity had damaged his nightvision.

Despite his doubts, Bastion followed Ralph and sat by the water to let his feet get wet. He ran his fingers through the coarse black sand. His thoughts settled into the grains, ignoring the other boys in favour of what interesting insects might live amongst them.

It didn't take long for Bill and Robert to join them. There was a slight rustle, and two shadows detached themselves from the surrounding forest. Once Bastion noticed them, he turned his attention to Ralph, but the pale boy made no sign that he was startled. He was leaning back on his arms, as if it were midday and he was enjoying the sun.

"Hallo," Ralph said.

"Hallo," Bill and Robert chorused. For a long moment, no-one moved or said anything. Bastion shifted uneasily, aware of some tension that stretched between hunters and former Chief.

"What did you see?" Ralph finally asked, sitting up and crossing his legs.

"They hunted lots of pigs," Robert said sullenly, "and baby pigs, the bastards. They know that'll kill us all." Bastion's hands clenched into fists. Roger was an idiot to break Jack's rule. "Roger's hunters are all 'round where Jack is. We woulda been killed if we tried anything. Maurice is with Roger all the time."

Despite the disjointed nature of Robert's report, Ralph nodded. "We don't have any choice," the pale boy muttered.

"What do you mean?" It was Eric who seemed most comfortable speaking with Ralph. He knelt by the ex-Chief, spear across his thighs, like a child questioning a parent. When Ralph turned to Eric, the younger boy did not flinch, as Jack's hunters would. Bastion could only wonder at how Eric had grown used to the creepy big'un.

"Roger has stolen all the power in one night," Ralph began. He waved a white arm, and Bill and Robert found places to sit. "He has a larger group, the support of the little'uns, and two prisoners. We have nothing."

"But Roger's hunters are dumb!" Robert exclaimed. Bastion could sense his wounded pride. "There's more of 'em, but we're smarter!"

Bastion nodded. "And better!" There was nothing truer.

"Maybe, but we still need a plan." Ralph was standing again, and began to pace in front of the other boys. "Most importantly, we need to get Jack back."

"And Sam!" Eric cried out.

"And Sam," Ralph said, nodding. "Roger's hostages."

Bastion wasn't sure what a hostage was, but he nodded anyway.

"We can't very well rush in there," Ralph continued, "because we're outnumbered and someone might get hurt."

"We'll sneak up on them!" Robert jumped to his feet and prowled around their small group. "We'll capture anyone who wanders away from the others." He moved as though to grab Eric, and the younger boy flinched away.

"Then what?" Ralph asked.

Robert seemed at a loss, so Bastion interrupted. "Tie them up!" he exclaimed. It was so easy to imagine dragging the hunters away, one by one, and trussing them up.

"Then what?" Ralph repeated. Bastion frowned at the irritating question, and shrugged. Ralph nodded. "Exactly. Even if we beat Roger, what would we do with him?"

"Put him in a prison?" Robert suggested. "Maybe Castle Rock, or… or something?"

Ralph made no reply, and Bastion was uncomfortably aware of what had happened three years ago, when Ralph had been the subject of a similar conversation. Bastion glared at Ralph, waiting for him to react, but the ex-Chief was silent. _If you were Jack, you would hate us,_ he silently accused. _Why don't you hate us?_

When Ralph did speak, he was not angry, only cold. "There is no way to fight and win. We would have to kill them, not imprison. Do you see that? This island is too small, too horrible."

"What should we do?" Eric asked, leaning closer.

"I will offer myself in exchange."

"What!" Eric was the only one bothered by this.

Bastion nodded. If giving up Ralph was the only way to get Jack back, then they would do it.

"Ralph," Eric whined, "we can't do that. What will Roger do to you?"

"I don't know. Probably what he's done to Jack."

"But why?"

"Because we want peace, not another war."

"There will never be peace!" It was Robert who shouted, waving his arms. "You're stupid to think so! Stupid Ralph and your stupid peace! Where's the conch, Ralph, huh? We thought the conch would save us, but it smashed, and we got lost." Bastion could not see the smaller boy's face, but it sounded like he was crying. "Now what are we going to do?"

"All we can do is talk to them. I'll go to Roger to find out what he wants."

Bastion and the other hunters accepted this with uneasy nods, but Eric was rocking back and forth.

Ralph reached out one ghostly arm and let it fall on Eric's shoulder. "This is the only way, okay? We don't want anyone else to get hurt."

_But they will,_ Bastion thought. _You can't stop that_. Ralph was oblivious to Bastion's querulous mental reply. He got up and left, leaving the other boys to their own devices.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **Jack and the boys don't belong to me. However, I have put in a bid for the island. So it might belong to me, you know, if they accept bits of string as payment. Wish me luck!

**Author's Note: **Ah! Thank you to everyone who bothers to read and review! I've been a horrible writer, haven't I? I think it's been a little short of forever since I last updated. To anyone who's been waiting, I apologize and hope that you like this next bit.

As usual, please let me know if you find any typos.

**Warnings:** A bit of violence, some discussion of non-con, and religious references.

Sing the Little Children

Eleven

Light trickled into the clearing, colouring dark shapes in shades of grey. Lumps unrecognizable in the night became bushes, ferns, bodies. Lines became more definite. Shadows grew where the light could not touch.

Colour existed.

And, as the sun broke over the horizon to dispel the enchantment of the dreaming night, Roger opened his eyes and beheld an angel.

A figure stood over him, shining with its own white light and haloed with gold. Roger gasped and tried to scramble to his feet, only to fall back. The angel moved toward him.

"Roger," it said in an ageless voice, "you have sinned."

Then the sun continued to rise and Ralph, white-skinned and yellow-haired, stared down at him.

There were startled cries and awed whispers all around the clearing as the other boys woke and saw their first Chief.

"It's him," one said particularly loudly, "Ralph."

Roger felt the situation slipping from his control. He lunged to his feet and was satisfied to see that Ralph was shorter than himself. "Where've you been, Ralph?" he drawled. His palms itched to hold a spear.

A little'un replied for the pale boy. "We thought you was dead, Ralph," the small boy said. It was one of the diggers. Roger scowled at it.

"I may well've been," Ralph spoke, turning his head slightly. "But I've come back." His dark blue-grey eyes bored into Roger. "I've come for Jack."

"Jack?" Roger repeated. He laughed. "Jack is dead. Jack is shit and he's dead."

"Then I've come for his body." Then, as though he knew Roger's camp, as though he'd walked through it many times, Ralph strode, unhurried, unerringly toward the hollow where Maurice had dumped Jack and the twin that cried a lot. And Roger, surprised by Ralph's easy confidence, accepted Ralph's dominance and fell back to let the pale boy pass.

Two heartbeats later, Roger realized what he had done. He reached out and grabbed Ralph's upper arm, tightly enough to bruise. "You're not Chief," he growled.

Ralph nodded, unfazed, and stared coolly at Roger's hand. "You're right," he agreed. "I'm not Chief. Jack is."

Another explosion of excited murmuring erupted around them. Roger snarled wordlessly and threw Ralph away from him. The slighter boy stumbled back, but didn't fall, irritatingly enough. "I am Chief!" Roger roared. Little'uns scrambled around the clearing, some disappearing into the jungle and others lingering at the edges where they could watch the coming exchange. Behind him, Roger heard Maurice's familiar heavy step and the lighter rustling of his other hunters.

"I am Chief," he said again, loudly. By his own strength and cunning, he had gained this position of ultimate power.

"What Chief rapes his people?" Ralph demanded coldly. He stood alone, his pale flanks vulnerable under the island's cruel sun, but carried himself as though he had an army beyond him. He was too confident.

Roger looked around the clearing, warily but not nervously. He knew very well that Jack's four last hunters were out in the jungle; Luke had returned and told Roger about the fight on the beach, and the other twin was still missing. However, he still had 7 hunters to back him, and the little'uns were his to command. He had nothing to fear from Ralph or anyone else.

Yet, why was Ralph staring with that disdainful, confident expression? Why wasn't he hiding, or cowering, or begging for mercy? It touched Roger with uncertainty, for a moment, but then he frowned and forced a hard laugh.

"I do!" he shouted. "It's my right as Chief! I do what I want, when I want, and no one can stop me!"

This declaration did not garner the reaction that he was expecting.

Ralph burst into a shrill peal of laughter. Roger started back in surprise. There was something wrong with the boy before him, some unbalance. Roger could see it in the way Ralph shook as he laughed and how he swayed. His grey-blue eyes were mere slits in his thin face.

As suddenly as it had begun, Ralph stopped laughing. He stilled and tilted his head. A smile curved his pale pink lips. "After all you've done, you believe this?" he asked softly. "YOU BELIEVE THIS?" he shrieked and slashed a long arm out. And he started to laugh again.

_He's insane_, Roger realized. _Completely barmy_. He shook his head and scowled. Ralph might be crazy, but he wasn't dangerous. Not even when his eyes glittered and his fingers curved into claws. Yet, Roger backed up a pace and glanced about for a spear.

"What do you want?" Ralph suddenly asked, once more appearing normal. "Why are you hurting everyone?"

Here was familiar territory. Ralph smirked and recalled the glowing feeling of easy domination. "I like it," he said. "It feels _good_."

"You'll kill us all," Ralph replied calmly. "Irresponsible hunting. Injuring little'uns enough to put their lives in danger." Ralph gestured back toward the hiding boys. "What will you do when there are no more people to hurt?"

Roger felt momentary discomfort, quickly replaced by anger. "I decide what happens to this island and to us!" he roared. "And shut up before I kill _you_!"

Ralph's face became brilliantly hopeful. "Would you!" he exclaimed. He strode forward quickly to peer into Roger's face, making Roger flinch back. "Kill me," he breathed.

Roger felt heat rise in his face, a mixture of anger, embarrassment at his own discomfiture, and the stirrings of desire. Ralph was like no other boy on the island; he appeared weak, but was strong. His present appearance was overlaid by his former tanned, gregarious self. And there was that dangerous glitter of his eyes that prickled the hairs on Roger's neck.

Not knowing what else to do, he punched Ralph in the jaw.

Ralph fell back with a startled cry and landed on his rear, holding his cheek. When he looked up he was grinning.

"Disgusting, Roger. Brutal, barbaric, beastly," he sang, high-pitched and eerie. Roger swallowed, shook his hand out. Ralph climbed to his feet, removed his hand grom the red welt that marred his face. "You have no power over me, Roger, disgusting Roger." He laughed and swayed and placed a hand over his belly. "But that's what you want, isn't it Roger?" He stepped forward again, but not close enough to touch. "Power and more power." He continued in a whisper, "Let Jack go, and I will give myself over to you. Isn't that what you want?"

"I could just take you," Roger growled.

"You could," Ralph agreed. "But I would not be under your power." His smile widened and he looked about conspiratorially before leaning yet closer. "I can kill myself at any moment, you know, just by wanting to die. If you try to hold me by force, I'll do it. But, if you accept my deal, then I will stay under your control." His stormy eyes floated in Roger's vision. "Wouldn't you be that much greater?"

Roger grunted. He didn't want to believe that Ralph would kill himself – he remembered something from before the island, about God and sins and suicide. But Ralph was insane. Roger believed. And he wanted. He imagined white skin and gasps and tears streaming from blue-grey eyes. Jack was one thing – all fight and fire and ragged screams. But Ralph, Roger thought, would be still and defiant until nearly the end, when Roger would force him to cry.

Slowly, Roger's lips peeled back into a grin. "Done," he said. He jerked his head toward Luke. "Take Jack-shit out into the jungle and leave him."

"Yes, Chief," Luke said stonily, and he and two others disappeared.

"He might survive," Roger grinned. Then he reached out and grabbed Ralph's arm. The pale boy did not resist. "I'm hungry," he remarked, and pulled his newest possession toward the more secluded part of the clearing.

Bastion didn't know what to expect. Ralph had left them before morning, telling them only to wait close to Roger's clearing. It seemed stupid, though, to wait here. What were they waiting for? Roger wouldn't just let Jack go. And Ralph certainly couldn't fight off seven hunters by himself.

"This is so stupid," he muttered down to Dru. He'd found her on the way here, hiding under a fallen log. The spider, a beautiful creature with brown markings and delicate legs, waved up at him from his cupped hands. His spear lay on the ground before him as he crouched behind a voluptuous fern.

Robert, Bill, and Eric were hiding at other places around the clearing, likely having similar conversations with themselves. What were they waiting for?

A noisy crashing to Bastion's right made him jerk his head up and peer around the fern. There was more crashing, and laughter, and a deep, pain-filled moan.

_Jack!_ Bastion grabbed up his spear and stood, after carefully setting Dru down under the fern. Then, quickly and quietly, he slid through the foliage to where the crashing continued.

He saw the back of one of Roger's hunters first. The boy was looking down at something, and jumping a bit, as though kicking something. And there were two other red-masked hunters, one of them Luke, also bouncing and kicking…

Bastion wasn't the first to approach Roger's hunters. Before he could do anything, Robert jumped out from the hunters' other side, brandishing his spear at the three larger boys.

"Get away from him!" he shouted.

Luke and the others laughed. They stopped kicking and formed up together to face Robert. "You gonna stop us?" Luke drawled. None of them had spears, but all three were much larger than Robert.

"_We're_ gonna stop you," a much deeper voice replied, and Bill emerged from the bushes at their side, his spear held ready.

One of the hunters flinched and stepped away, but Luke stood strong. "Two against three ain't gonna win," he said.

_My turn_, Bastion thought. He drew himself up, took a deep breath, and said, loudly, "That's three against three," and marched forward. Unfortunately, he didn't watch where he was walking and his foot caught on a thick creeper. He waved his arms, dropped his spear, and tumbled to the loamy ground.

Roger's hunters laughed. Bastion went hot, then cold with embarrassment. Then fear paralysed him as he came face to face with Jack's slack, blood-smeared, and swollen face. He didn't even notice as one of the hunters ran at him and raised his leg to kick him.

_KER-ACK!_

The hunter stumbled back, clutching his bleeding nose. Eric stood, panting, holding the end of his broken spear like a cricket bat. The pointed end of his spear lay several feet away. Bastion stared up at the formerly meek boy with something like awe.

"I'll get you—" the other unnamed hunter began, but Luke held him back.

"We're done our job," he growled. "No need to play with these stupid pigs." He reached down to pull up the hunter that Eric had hit. "Let's get back to Roger." Then he smirked, red paint twisting. "I wanna watch what he does to Ralph."

Then they were gone.

"We gotta save Ralph!" Eric shouted.

"No, we gotta look after Jack," Robert said more quietly. He moved forward and knelt beside their old Chief.

Jack looked like he had been painted with red and purple. Blood streaked his back, and it looked like he'd been beaten with a stick. What skin that wasn't covered with blood was blue or black or green. His face was nearly unrecognizable. And his thighs… Bastion quickly averted his eyes from the mess of blood and crusted white.

"Let's carry him back to the cave," Eric said.

"The grotto," Robert argued. "We need lots of water. And we can start a fire on the sand."

Bill readily agreed, and Bastion slowly nodded.

"We need cloth," Eric said. "Ralph… Ralph cleaned Petey with warm water and cloth."

"Go and get some," Robert told the twin. Eric nodded and took off.

Then, without speaking, the three remaining hunters gingerly picked up their fallen Chief and carried him through the jungle.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, Jack would be a lot happier if I owned him, so I should totally own Lord of the Flies. Right? No? Aw... I guess he, and all of Lord of the Flies, doesn't belong to me.

**Author's Note:** I bet you never thought you'd see me again. Eh? Ehhhh? But I'm back! My apologies for the delay! Should you be interested, please come and check out my homepage for advance updates, other fic, and some original stuff.

**Warnings:** Nothing in this chapter. I thought I'd take it easy while getting used to the water. Mwahah.

**Sing the Little Children**

**Chapter 12**

An uneasy truce enveloped the island. Roger, his hunters and his little'uns hunted and foraged freely and consumed the island. Jack, his hunters, and his one little'un retreated to the only area that Roger's boys avoided—the rocky, fire-scarred territory of the Beast near the top of the mountain.

At night, they saw the great fires burning in Roger's camp and heard the singing and shouting. Jack sat on a pile of boulders and glowered into the darkness. Ralph was down there somewhere. None of his hunters could tell him what had happened between Ralph and Roger that resulted in his own release, but he knew it wasn't good. His memory of Roger's brutality was clear; his imagination even more so. If he was lucky, Ralph was already dead.

"Damn them," Robert whispered somewhere below their former Chief. "There's no more pigs. Do you think, Bill?"

"No more pigs," Bill agreed.

_We're going to die here_, Jack thought. If Roger didn't kill them, starvation would. How long would it take for them to destroy the fruit trees and fill the lagoon with their waste? When would Roger's burning hatred catch them?

Jack moved when it became too painful to sit. He stretched and slowly set his feet on the earth. His entire body was stiff and aching, but he wasn't permanently damaged. Though his pride hardly agreed.

"Jack?" Bastion said when the redhead started walking away.

"I want to be alone," Jack immediately told the long-haired hunter.

Silence was his answer and he took it as obedience.

This area had once been sacred. Every pig head was brought and ceremonially erected for the Beast. Then they hunted fewer pigs, the hunters stopped believing and the place was just another where the boys did not go. Even Jack gave up on the Beast when no one was eaten, not even in the dark.

"Are you here?" he asked out loud. The moonlight wasn't very bright, but he could see enough to climb past the remains of burnt trees and out into the open, onto the long stretch of bare rock and short shrubs. "Beast?" he called louder. "Why did you leave us?" Then his foot caught on something and he crashed down.

His hip and knee complained loudly, but Jack voiced none of the pain. He gritted his teeth, looked down, and discovered that he had stumbled over a pig skull. It was clean and bleached white. When he held it in his hands, it nearly glowed. It was huge and he thought he remembered, some time in their first year, hunting and killing a monster of a pig.

Jack looked around, now paying closer attention, and slowly picked out other skulls. They stretched away into the darkness. He was getting close.

He took the skull with him as he climbed.

The first time he had seen the Beast, he was with Ralph and Roger. At that time they were young, excited, afraid and alive with new freedom and responsibility. Now he was alone and he was heavy with terrible knowledge. He didn't know why he wanted to find the Beast again; maybe he wanted to throw himself in front of the Beast and beg it for... something. The order that had once existed, the fear that kept them all together, a greater darkness than what existed in their own hearts.

Jack quietly slid between two great, straight edged slabs and he was there, in the space where the Beast existed.

For a moment, the air and the very island was perfectly still. Jack stood unmoving, watching the impenetrable shadows.

"Beast," he finally whispered.

A breeze answered. Then there was a _shush-shush_ noise, like the water on sand. _Shush-shush_, it said again.

Jack felt like crying. Where was it? He was more afraid that the Beast was gone than of the Beast itself.

He walked forward carefully. He held the giant pig skull in front of him, the teeth digging into the middle pads of his clenched fingers.

Then his bare toes touched the edge of the inky shadow and it felt like cold fabric. He stepped on it gingerly and felt the rocks underneath. How could darkness be so tangible?

As he moved into the shadow and lost the moonlight, his eyes adjusted and he finally saw the Beast.

The Beast had a bulbous black head and a white face with two deep pits for eyes. It nodded gently at Jack's approach. Its body was shrunken and its wings of shadow engulfed the space in which Jack walked. Jack trembled and held the pig's head out like a weapon or an offering.

_I am your servant,_ Jack thought. His knees were weak and his feet trembled as the skins on the bottom tried to crawl away from the cold black surface. _I come to you for..._ Something. Guidance. Truth. Help.

No. Not help. The Beast won't help the helpless. The Beast only helps those who are strong enough to take it.

"Give it to me," Jack muttered. _Give me what I want._

When he was only a pace away, he went to his knees. He stared into the pits of the Beast's eyes.

Then, like the peeling of a skin or drawing of a curtain, the Beast told Jack the truth. It told Jack that it was a dead human man wearing a military uniform and a parachute. Its grin was eternal. Its gaze was fixed. It nodded as the wind moved it and its nylon wings.

Jack reached out and touched a desiccated shoulder. There was bony resistance and nothing else.

_There was no Beast. No Beast but what we carry in us._ The realization made him shudder. _Ralph always knew. He knew that we couldn't hunt the Beast. We could only try to escape._ He looked back, automatically, to where the first signal fire had smoldered so long ago. There was no signal now. No hope for escape. There was only him, the island, and Roger.

Old memories returned to him. Pictures of soldiers in the war. Their equipment. He felt down the corpse's body, past thick straps and bulging pockets and places where the fabric gave way under his questing fingers. Finally, he found what he wanted. A hard, cold metal, a nozzle, a trigger. He pulled it out. He weighed it in his hand. It felt like civilization. It felt like power.

The wind blew and the Beast's helmet slammed forward into Jack's forehead. He scrambled backward, skinning his palm, brought up the gun and squeezed the trigger.

The noise and force was immediate and shocking. The Beast's head exploded in a shower of metal and bone. Jack stared aghast at what he had done. His ears rang from the shot and his arm felt numb. He panted heavily in what was quickly becoming a feeling of exhilaration. He stared at the gun in his hand.

"Who's the Beast now?" he asked it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer**: The estate of William Golding demanded that I stop sending petitions begging for the release of the boys and the island into my custody. Apparently they don't think I'd be a "responsible caretaker." Honestly, I have no idea why they would think that...

**Warnings**: Warnings for no violence? Two chapters in after my extended "vacation" and I thought we'd already be somewhere dark and blood-tinged. Oh well. Good things come to those who wait. Apologies for the minute word count; the next two chapters are much bigger. We'll think of this as... a Prelude.

Sing the Little Children

Chapter 13

"Wake up!"

Bastion woke slowly, with difficulty. He was having such a great dream; there were so many little crawly things and he was singing and all was well. Then Eric's face was only inches from his own and the boy was shouting at him to wake up.

"Stop it," the hunter grumbled and turned away, trying to hide his face in his arm.

"Bastion, please! There was a, a loud noise! And Jack is gone!"

With great effort, Bastion pushed himself up. He sat cross-legged and glared at the twin. "He left before we slept. Sometimes he just does that."

"But the Beast-"

"There he is!" Robert came flying at them from out of the night, leaping over a hedge of prickly bushes and darting past them, toward the mountain.

Eric and Bastion stood and peered through the moon-soft darkness and saw nothing but more rocks, jagged trunks and pools of shadow and soot.

Then there was a short shriek and the crashing of bare feet on gravel. Robert came racing back, as pale as a fish. "The Beast!" he cried.

Bastion's heart froze. He was momentarily paralysed with fear. Eric whimpered.

Afar up the slope, they saw something tall and black with a skull for a head. It strode slowly toward them, its body eery and elongated.

Bastion scrambled for his spear. He felt Robert at one shoulder and Bill slide up on the other from wherever he was keeping watch.

"Stay back!" Robert called. His voice was thin and tremulous. "We have spears! We'll kill you!"

The figure approached. It spoke, "A spear won't kill the Beast."

The hunters gasped in shock and relief. The voice was Jack's.

It continued, "The Beast is already dead." When he was close, they saw that Jack was covered in black and upon his head he wore the skull of a great pig. "I found it and I took all of its powers."

They parted before him.

Robert reached out and touched Jack's arm. "What is this?"

"Beast skin."

"It's a jacket," the small hunter accused. "Where did you get it?"

"I told you." Jack jerked his elbow away. "I took it."

The hunters fell silent. Bastion felt the first stirring of horror that the worst monster in their lives wasn't some evil creature, but something so much closer. He didn't think he was the only one; the others looked confused and afraid.

"Ralph wanted peace," the red-head continued. "And this is what happened." He gestured around them, at their exile, at the island that wouldn't last much longer. "So we will have _my_ peace. I'm going to kill Roger and anyone who stands with him."

Wide-eyed, Robert said, "But how? All of his hunters..." He left his fears hanging in the air.

Jack didn't answer for a moment. Dawn was approaching and the faint pre-light glimmered in his mad blue eyes under the skull. When his gaze found Robert, the small hunter shuddered. "They will stand down. Or they will die."

There was no forthcoming explanation. Jack was hiding something from them and none of them had the courage to ask what it was. Dawn broke clear, golden light over them. The hunters saw that their Chief wore some kind of uniform that they recognized from their previous lives. There were straps on him, like a harness, and pouches and pockets full of things.

The hunters went out foraging for fruit to break their fast. While they were away from Jack, they spoke amongst themselves.

"That's army clothes," Robert said wisely. "I remember."

"Was that the Beast?" Bastion asked incredulously. "It can't have been."

"Why not?" asked Robert. "We never saw it, not really. It could've been anything."

"So we imagined it the whole time?" Bastion pulled down an olive-grey fruit, discovered it was mostly rotten, and threw it with all his might into the trees. "I don't believe that."

"Then don't," Robert snapped back. "Believe what you want."

"Do you think he has a gun?" Bill asked. The other two turned to stare at the large hunter.

Bastion recalled Eric's fearful gibbering about the loud noise and couldn't say no.

"If he does," Robert finally said. "Roger don't have a chance."

When the hunters returned, Jack was sharpening a long knife on a piece of stone. It shone nicely, like it was brand new. He looked up at their approach and nodded to them. "It has to be tonight," he said. "Before the island dies any more."

"Ralph is still down there," Eric said. He reached out for some fruit and Bill snatched it away with a glare for the twin.

"Get your own," said the hunter. "This is for Jack."

Eric cowered and slunk away.

The three hunters and their Chief ate together. Petey moved around the outside of their tight circle and Bastion absently handed a small fruit to the little'un. The boy's skinny brown limbs reminded Bastion of an insect and he felt a bit of fondness toward him.

"I need to get Roger alone," Jack told them. "Without him, his hunters are less dangerous."

"Not Maurice," Robert spoke up. "He is almost a leader."

"And Luke is a shit-head," Bastion added. "We should kill him, anyway."

Bill and Robert laughed. Jack didn't. His expression was distant as he plotted. "He'll have to be alone at some point. Then we hunt him."

"Or lure him?" Bastion asked. He was more familiar with attracting predators than the pig hunters. "Make him come to you?"

The four of them thought about this.

"What would lure Roger?" Robert asked.

There was a snap of branches and Eric emerged from the trees, a few small, unripe fruits in hand. His face was screwed up in discomfort and he sucked on a small wound he'd gotten on his arm.

"Pain," Jack answered. His intense glare bored into Eric. "Pain lures him."


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer**: I promise to put them back when I'm done playing with them.

**Author's**** Note**: For anyone who's interested, try Grooveshark-ing or downloading or YouTubing "Libera". It's a huge boy's choir in London and they make beautiful music. In some ways it is perfect to listen to while reading (or writing) Lord of the Flies fanfic. Heh.

**Warnings**: Er, there is some non-consensual, non-graphic smexx. Enjoy!

Sing the Little Children

Chapter 14

Ralph hadn't eaten in three days. Roger was torn between letting him starve, just to see him starve, or making him eat so that he'd last longer as a plaything. He decided on a compromise; feeding the former Chief and degrading him at the same time.

His tribe had built up another huge fire. It towered over the tallest boy and sent waves of heat across the clearing. Pigs charred on the edge and little'uns danced around it. Roger sprawled in his seat of crooked roots and watched in pleasure. This was his domain, his world, his island. He beckoned to a hunter, Luke, and demanded, "Bring me meat."

The hunter nodded. He went a few feet away, grabbed another boy by the throat and passed on the command. The boy scrambled away, toward the blistering heat of the fire.

Roger tugged on Ralph's shaggy mop of filthy blond hair as he waited. The former Chief knelt beside Roger and half-lay in the new Chief's lap. If he was conscious, he made no indication. He seemed to pass in and out of awareness at random. It didn't matter to Roger; he knew that, when the big'uns and little'uns looked at him, they saw that the first Chief was a pet and nothing more.

The boy brought back a large, rubbery leaf covered in slabs of steaming meat. He held it out to Roger, his hands trembling. Roger saw his gaze flick to Ralph and quickly away again. The Chief smirked and waved him away.

Half of the meat was charred. Most of the rest were raw. Roger took the bloody pieces, chewed them, then pulled Ralph's head up and spat it into his mouth. Ralph's eyes opened wide and he started to cough and push Roger away. Roger clamped a hand over Ralph's face and gripped his hair tightly. He looked into Ralph's face, smiled and said, "Swallow it."

Ralph breathed hard and fast through his nose. He glared and tried to shake his head.

Roger shook him. "Do it. I command you. You said you'd be mine if I let Jack-shit go. Are you a liar?"

Ralph's glare became more heated, but Roger felt the jump of his throat as he swallowed.

"Good boy," Roger gloated.

Roger made a show of chewing more meat and feeding it to Ralph. The way the former Chief squirmed and choked and tried so desperately to not obey entertained Roger. He pulled Ralph's smaller body onto his lap and started squeezing and rubbing Ralph's tender areas to add to his discomfort. Ralph struggled against him, his sharp elbow found Roger's chin, but this did nothing but increase Roger's enjoyment and raise his interest. It wasn't long before he rolled Ralph under him and pressed his growing arousal against Ralph's unyielding flesh.

Ralph growled and tried to fight, but he was weak and easy to subdue. Soon, Roger had him bent over a thick root and choking back cries as his Chief used him. Roger grunted his pleasure at the boy's tightness and sudden slickness.

There were eyes on them. In the midst of his pleasure, Roger glanced up and saw the enraptured faces of Maurice and Luke. He stared at them while he came to completion. When he was finished, Ralph was unconscious again. Roger pushed him out of the seat and let him crumple to the ground.

"This one's mine," he told his dearest hunters. "But you can have the other one." He nodded toward the small hollow where one of the twins spent most of his days sobbing. As far as Roger knew, Sam didn't have anything to cry about. Yet.

Maurice and Luke looked at each other. In the firelight and shadows, they were more than the boys they had been. Desire flickered in their expressions. The same spirit that possessed Roger was in each of them. After a moment, they slunk away.

Roger rested his head back in satisfaction. He set his feet on Ralph's prone figure. He watched his tribe. They all stayed on their side of the clearing, indicating their fear of their beloved leader, and that was how Roger wanted it.

Someone whimpered in the darkness behind him. Roger ignored it, figuring that it was Maurice and Luke at work with Sam. When it came again, it was closer and accompanied by crackling branches. Roger glanced back into the impenetrable darkness. He thought about calling his hunters, but most were out at the beach, or on the other side of the fire, or taking their reward from Roger's prisoner. Besides which, a soft cry like that was no danger.

"Sam?" he heard a voice call. "Where are you?"

Roger smiled to himself. Well, well, well... The other twin was about to fall into his clutches. Did he think he could rescue his brother out from under Roger's nose? The fool.

The crackling drew nearer and paused. Eric called again. He started to move away. Roger, who seemed to hunt less and less now that he was Chief, was eager to practice. He took up his spear and slid soundlessly into the trees.

Eric was not quiet prey. He sounded more like a pregnant sow than a boy; no wonder Jack hadn't let the twins join the hunt. Roger followed him, still smirking and relishing the thought that he could teach the boy a lesson in stealth before throwing him to the hunters.

Eric lead him to a small grotto, a pool of water with black sand and low, rock walls. The twin went to the water, knelt and started to drink. In the meagre star and moonlight, Roger saw the boy's curved back and bowed shoulders and lowered head. The Chief crept quietly behind him, entranced by the vulnerable posture, and placed the tip of his spear between the sharp shoulder blades.

"I've got you," Roger said.

The boy jumped and his head whirled around. His eyes and mouth were dark holes as he gaped.

"The Beast," Eric whispered.

For a moment, Roger thought Eric was referring to him. Then black hands settled on his shoulders. Roger spun about and felt a surge of sudden, intense, unreasoning fear as he came face-to-face with a tusked skull.

For a moment he stared. Then he dropped everything and tore away, off into the bushes.

Eric sat on his heels, staring with satisfaction at the place where Roger had disappeared. Then he shook his head. "Why'd you let him go?"

Jack's face was invisible, painted with soot. Only the skull tilted down and looked at the boy. "I could kill him," he said in a hollow voice. "But the others should see. He'll go back to them and they'll watch him die and know that I'm the Beast." He turned away.

Though Eric thought he was watching closely, it seemed like Jack just vanished between one blink and the next. He took a deep breath and told his body to stop trembling. He wanted Ralph back something terrible. Without him, everything was spinning into chaos. In Eric's heart, he knew that if Jack took control back, nothing would change.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's** **Note: **Well, I never thought I'd see the end of this, but here we are. Of course, now I'm thinking about ways to follow up on this, so who knows?

**Warnings:** Fighting and death. And over-use of the phrase "I am the Beast!"

Honestly, I have a picture in my head of a dirty, skinny redhead with violence in his eye, running around a jungle, shaking a spear and shouting "I am the Beast!" And I think, "Aw, he's so cute." I want a Jack plushie so I can cuddle him. I would cuddle Ralph, but Jack would probably kill me.

Hmm... Story idea?

Noooooooo! No more Lord of the Flies! Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! *runs away*

**Disclaimer:** Willie G. has successfully fended off my attempts at stealing his island, his choir boys and his military school boys. I give up.

Willie G.: *sniff* What will I do without my arch-nemesis? My laser sharks will have no one to circle around...

Sing the Little Children

Chapter 15

Roger crashed back into his clearing. He shouted, "Maurice! Luke! To me!"

Several little'uns lifted their heads to look at their Chief, but there was no sign of his most loyal hunters.

He growled and stalked to Sam's hollow. When he found it empty, he felt a chill of fear.

Roger whirled around, expecting the skull-faced Beast, but there was nothing behind him. He hurried toward the fire.

"My hunters," he roared. "Where are my hunters?" He grabbed one boy by the hair and shook him. "Where are they?"

The little'un stared at him in dumb, animal fear. Roger threw him away. He landed close to the fire and shrieked and scrambled out of the hot stones and pig remains.

"Hunters!" cried a thin voice. Another little'un jumped up and down and pointed.

Relieved, Roger turned. Then fury closed around his throat. Out of the darkness strode two of Jack's hunters, the small one and the one with long girl-hair. Both were striped with black. When they moved, they seemed to waver in the firelight like specters.

"Get out of here," Roger growled. "Crawl back to your master."

The small one spoke. "He's coming," he said. A white grin split his striped face. He leaned on his spear.

"We're going to make sure you don't cheat again," said the other.

Roger had a suspicion. It was ugly. "Where are Maurice and Luke?" he asked.

"Busy," said the small one. "Busy with Bill."

"That sounds like a T.V. show," commented his companion. They laughed together.

Roger gripped his spear, furious now at their glibness and in the aftermath of his panicked flight through the jungle. He roared and charged at them.

The two hunters didn't try to fight. They danced away from him, still laughing. They acted like monkeys, like little'uns. Enraged, Roger swung his spear like a cricket bat, trying to catch them.

Then he was distracted as all of the little'uns started screaming.

He turned, breathing hard, and quailed as the Beast stalked out of the trees and came toward him. It was thin and black, with long, reaching arms. It's skull was red in the firelight. In one hand it held a new spear.

The two hunters straightened and saluted. "Hail to the Chief!" they shouted.

And Roger realized that he was staring at Jack.

The little'uns cowered far away, beyond the blazing fire. They believed in and feared the Beast. Roger would show them that he was stronger.

"Back to try again?" Roger asked. He shook his spear at Jack. "I beat you once and I'll do it again."

"You're nothing," Jack said from behind the skull. "I am the Beast."

"There is no Beast!" Roger howled. He felt the eyes on him; the little'uns, the bigger boys, all of them watching and waiting to see him win. "You're just a little boy! A little frightened choir boy!"

Jack lunged forward and Roger met him. Their spears crashed together with numbing force. Roger snarled into the face hidden beneath the skull. Jack's blue-white eyes stared out of the darkness.

Roger's strength was greater. He shoved his adversary back. Jack nearly tripped over something, but regained his footing quickly. The point of his spear swung around to strike Roger's chest, but the larger boy smacked it aside with his own weapon. When Roger tried to attack, Jack danced sideways, swooped down and forward, and struck Roger across the thigh.

"The Beast is in me," Jack said.

Samneric clung together. Nearby, Maurice and Luke were bound by strong vines and strips of leather. Bill watched over them. The ambush had worked perfectly, but Sam was still afraid, still haunted by what he had seen and heard and what had nearly happened to him. He glanced over at the trussed hunters and had to look away again.

"What will Jack do with them?" he asked.

"If they don't obey when Roger's dead..." Eric said, and left it hanging.

They hadn't counted on Roger's other hunters, until now safely on the beach, figuring out what had happened.

There was a sudden crash in the trees on the far side of the hunters. Bill jumped to his feet, spear ready, but couldn't stand against the two other boys that leapt out at him. They bowled Bill over and sent him tumbling backwards into a pile of thick, dead plant life. One of the new hunters crouched by Maurice and Luke and the other went after Bill.

Samneric scrambled backward out of the fray. They weren't hunters.

Bill tried to stand, but he kept catching on thorny plants and losing his footing on the rotten log that formed the base of his prison. The other hunter stabbed at the larger boy and cut a nasty wound in Bill's shoulder. Bill bawled in pain and swung his own weapon around at head height. The other hunter jumped back and laughed.

Maurice and Luke were nearly free. Eric suddenly realized that, if they didn't escape now, they would all die. Or worse. Before his sense of self-preservation kicked in, he detached himself from Sam, picked up a branch and cracked it over Bill's attacker's head. The boy staggered and fell.

"Come on!" Eric shouted at Bill.

The large hunter, holding his shoulder, nodded and started running. Samneric followed.

They fled through the trees until they could barely breathe. When they stopped, there was no sound of pursuit.

"They've gone back to Roger," Bill said.

"Roger," Eric agreed. "And Jack."

Ralph woke from one nightmare into another. He was so tired and sore. He didn't want to open his eyes. The dirt and rocks and twigs beneath him hurt less than acknowledging what had been done to him. He heard yelling and growling, the crack of wood against wood, and the cheers of noncombatants. Only when something heavy hit the ground nearby did Ralph squint to see what was happening.

Roger lay sprawled on his back only a few feet away. Ralph flinched and tried to move, but his entire body screamed at the idea and he barely managed to get his elbows and knees beneath him before he collapsed back to the earth. He nearly lost consciousness, as much from apathy as from the pain. He mostly just didn't care anymore. He felt hollow and distant. Maybe he really was dreaming.

A tall figure in black loomed over the fallen Roger. Its skull face tilted down and its eyes were deep shadows. It held a spear and raised it to strike.

Roger wasn't done, though. He rolled and lunged toward the figure. The point of the spear grazed his back, but didn't stop him from tackling his enemy in the gut and bowling them both over.

The two fighters rolled in the dirt between Ralph and the raging fire. He could barely see anything but the oscillation of black and skin. There were cheers from the side and there stood Bastion and Robert, jumping up and down and crying, "Chief! Jack! Get 'im!"

The skull went flying away. Jack's red hair was like flame itself as he reared up over his adversary. He held up a hand and in it was a long, shining knife.

"No!" Then Maurice was there. The large hunter flashed out of the darkness and slammed into Jack from behind. Luke and another hunter also appeared, but Bastion and Robert engaged with them before they could join the fight.

The whole scene was just too much. Ralph drew his arms in and covered his face.

"Ralph!" An insistent voice called his name and a hand shook his shoulder. "Please, please wake up!"

Again, Ralph squinted his eyes open. He saw a double-image of Sam's face. Or was it Eric's?

"He opened his eyes!" said one.

"Thank God!" said the other. "Ralph, you have to get up, you have to stop this! They're going to kill each other."

The clearing was full of bodies writhing together and trying with all their might to inflict death on each other. It was difficult to tell them apart, but Ralph thought he saw Bill in the fray now.

"Jack has a gun," whispered Samneric. "He got it from the Beast. He's going to shoot Roger-"

"-Or Maurice-"

"-Luke. Maybe more."

Ralph laughed weakly. "What am I going to do?" he asked. His voice came out as a rasp. "It's not my problem. This island can go to Hell."

Samneric, who already looked like they'd been crying, became watery-eyed. "You're the Chief," they whispered. "You always have been."

Their loyalty hurt worse than anything else.

Ralph summoned whatever he had left to push himself up off the ground. When he was sitting, he reached out to the twins. They seemed to know what he wanted; they took his arms and helped him get to his feet.

For a long moment, he was lightheaded and out of breath. Even the great fire dimmed in his eyes. The voices around him became an incomprehensible garble.

When he could see clearly, he saw that Bill was a bloody mess under Maurice's fists. Bastion and Robert were holding their own. Jack and Roger seemed locked together in battle close to the fire. Ralph, feeling more and more numb, more like a ghost, walked toward them. Samneric tried to follow, but the spaces between the combatants were too small for three to walk abreast. Ralph went alone.

When he reached Jack and Roger, they were trying to headlock each other. Jack's ass was up in the air. Ralph saw the tell-tale bulge of a .38-caliber revolver in one of his pants' many pockets. As though in a dream, Ralph reached out and took it. It was a Victory model, like all the real men in the army carried. Ralph smiled a bit, on the inside, and remembered learning about it. He checked the bullets, found five, cocked it, and fired into the air.

Everyone went silent. Jack and Roger crouched on the ground, staring up at Ralph. Roger's mouth was open and Jack wore a fierce scowl.

"My gun-" he started.

Ralph pointed it at him. "My gun," he corrected.

Roger started forward. "How did you-"

"Shut up," Ralph said, training it on him. He went between the two. "Stop this. Now."

Jack's face was scored with scratches and he bled profusely from his nose. He looked from the nozzle of the gun to Ralph's face. The rage faded from his expression and he gradually relaxed.

Roger did not. He reached behind him, grabbed the end of a burning branch and jumped toward Ralph.

Ralph's body responded before his mind could even acknowledge what was going on. He fired into Roger's chest and then ducked the blazing branch that swept over his head. He cried out because the burn of falling embers pierced through his numbness.

Roger's swing went wild as he staggered. Blood bloomed over his stomach and drenched his front. His eyes stared out of a bone-white face. He took two, uncertain steps, all the while his insane gaze locked on Ralph. Then Jack was there, grabbing Ralph and pulling him away.

Roger died still trying to come after the blonde boy

For a moment, Ralph and Jack huddled together. Ralph held the gun in an experienced hand and grinned at the red-head. "Military school," he said. "Trumps choir."

Jack snorted. His long arms squeezed the slight figure of his first Chief. "You killed him," he said seriously.

Ralph nodded. "Better than you," he said. "Kill for justice. Not for vengeance." He rested his head against Jack's shoulder, soft and rough with clothing. He smelled like death and civilization.

There was a commotion behind them. Ralph was vaguely aware of Jack turning to address the issue; what to do with Roger's hunters. He didn't hear the answer through the haze of his exhaustion, but he did feel the rising heat.

He wasn't surprised when someone started to shout, "Fire! Fire!"

It was like they were boys again and fire was new and frightening. He remembered being chased through the jungle, hunters with burning brands behind him, the heat always at his heals. But now it was Jack holding him and carrying him and the fire was all around them.

The island really was Hell.

The boys stood in the water and watched the island burn. Jack held Ralph low so that the water took most of his weight. Samneric, Bastion, Robert and Bill, holding his shoulder, stood close by. Roger's hunters stood in a small clump far away. The rest of the boys, little'uns and big'uns, milled somewhere in the middle. By Jack's eyes, a good quarter of them were missing.

"There won't be no hunting after this," Robert said.

"No," Jack replied.

The roar of the flames swallowed the lapping of the ocean and the cries of the island animals as they were devoured. To Jack, it was like watching a physical manifestation of Roger's hunger.

Jack watched and didn't know what to do. They couldn't stand out here all night and there was no telling how long the fire would rage or the earth would hold its frightening heat. He wanted to wake Ralph and ask, but the blond was completely unconscious. Though Jack didn't fail to notice that his hand still curled protectively around the gun. He held Ralph a little bit tighter.

No one heard them approach. The inferno in the jungle was too loud. Suddenly, spotlights, their whiteness as celestial as the moon and stars, illuminated the boys in the water. Jack turned, in fear and awe and anger, and saw the boats.


End file.
